Creed II
by Avalon-Shiranui
Summary: What does one do with eternal youth? Is it a gift or a curse? Is it an opportunity or a damnation? An ends or a means? I don't have the answers. But it's been nearly 300 years. Can he help me find the answers? Ezio Auditore? Sequel to "Creed"
1. Prologue

_**Creed II**_

_By Avalon Shiranui_

**Prologue**

The world is not as it seems. When you live as long as I have, you learn quickly that it never is. When you live as long as I have, you learn a lot of things.

People never listen to me when I speak of what I know. They tell me I'm too young to understand; show respect to those who have lived long enough to teach me a few things. Always something. It used to be because I am a woman. Sometimes it was my color, others my size, or background, family, lifestyle, maybe occupation. No one ever wants to be told someone knows something they do not—especially not a young, dark-skinned woman with no family and a questionable past.

Truth is, I am not as I seem either. My father was murdered, and my house stolen from me. I was hunted, forced to flee my own city.

Of course, that was nearly three-hundred years ago, give or take a decade, during the Third Crusade. Yes, that was some time ago. Things have changed since then.

Well, most things. But listen to me contradict myself at every point, and I don't mean to give the runaround. It's just, well, as I said, when you live as long as I have, you learn that nothing is ever as it seems. Nothing is ever simple.

My name is Akilah Sharif, and my story is something others would never understand. Except those few. Yet there I go again with the contradictions! Let me start from the beginning.

I was born in 1168 A.D., linking the Second and Third Crusade. Even though I grew up after one war and before another, my childhood saw much animosity. My father was a merchant that transported caravans between cities, particularly from our hometown of Damascus. My mother, Allah rest her soul, died when I was young. It was not until years later I realized she killed herself—poison is a clever deception—but I couldn't bare her ill will. She was lonely. Weren't we all?

Much of my childhood revolved around studies in the classroom as well as the household. With neither parent home much, the soldiers protecting us raised me as best they could to be a decent woman. Unfortunately, I took after my father more than my mother. My uncle never got a moment's rest with me in his classroom, either disrupting or impeding progress as often as possible.

I never married. At the time, it seemed an awful waste and a bit of a disgrace not only to my family but to my femininity. My father insisted he would find me the perfect husband, but that proved near impossible for a man who spent barely a week in a month at home. While he traveled, I studied. I am grateful now that he forced me to stay beneath my uncle's scholarly hand.

In 1191, shortly after my twenty-third birthday, my life took a change. I met a man in a white robe. We saved each other, a few times, and of course I fell in love with him. I gave myself to him, the man in the hood, and to this day do not regret it. He was an excellent lover but most of all a good man. I only spent that one night with him, yet his touch still burns my skin sometimes. This man, Altaïr Ibn la-Ahad.

The assassin.

The greatest bond between us, though, was the murder of my dear father. Altaïr assassinated Abul Nuqoud, my father's killer. With Abul Nuqoud's death came a movement across the city, a restlessness that never settled. Abul Nuqoud was not the first. Damascus' Saracen merchant, Tamir, met Altaïr first, then Garnier de Naplouse as a member of the Knight's Hospitalier in Acre. Jerusalem's slave trader, Talal, met the same fate. And Abul Nuqoud would not be the last. In the months to follow, William of Montferrat, Regent Lord of Acre, was killed in his own fort, followed shortly by Majd Addin in Jerusalem.

Then there was Jubair, the Chief Scholar and leader of the Illuminated. One of Saladin's men. He led a faction across Damascus that stole and burned all the writings in the town, poor and rich alike. That was when my uncle fell as well, burned along with his books and scrolls. They came for me, too, but I escaped with my father's texts. I had no real need for them; I just couldn't allow my father's gifts that fate. I gave them to a local poor boy.

Jubair's betrayal demanded retribution, but Altaïr had him on his list as well. Together, Altaïr and I fled the city after Jubair's assassination. I do not remember the feeling of leaving my home, or what passed through my mind. I just remember the horse's muscled neck and shaggy mane as I watched it instead of the disappearing city. I remember the landscape that blocked Damascus from my view.

There was nowhere else to go but Masyaf, the home of the assassins. Altaïr helped me find a home where I could hide away from curious eyes. I fit in well there, but uneasiness always ruined my mood. Something felt wrong, not that I didn't have my suspicions. Nightmares woke me every night over the months before leaving Damascus, and they grew worse after arriving in Masyaf.

They lay with Al Mualim, leader of the Assassin's Guild. I did not know what, but something nagged at me. Something told me he was entirely untrustworthy. I did not like leaving Altaïr with him. I did not like Altaïr following his orders. And then there was that day.

The day I died.

It was not a painful death. I remember the warm embrace of death battling the cold water flooding the life out of me. But I do not remember how I ended up in an affectionate home with a young couple. The wife was the same age me, and we got along wonderfully. I lost my memories for a time but pretended not to notice. After fifteen years, though, even I could not deny that something was wrong. Not simply the memory loss, but with _me_. The couple grew older, weaker, and exhausted; she grew wrinkly and rough-skinned, crisped by the years of labor beneath the hot sun.

Not me. I was unchanged, always the same. My skin never crinkled, my reflexes never slackened, my eyes never worsened, my hair never grayed. I never even got aging pains. I rarely got sick either. As the only people I knew grew older and withered, I watched them like a shadow, forever the untouched guardian of youth. Something was very wrong.

I set out to find answers about who I was and what was wrong with me. Who had I been? Where was I from? What happened to me? Why was I was so easily discarded by the rest of the world that no one knew me or looked for me? How did things come to be this way?

I found all my answers upon returning to Masyaf, guided by a strange old man. The city was abandoned and withering away, just like everyone else in the world except me. I found my way to the assassins' stronghold, and the memories came back like the river behind it. This was where Al Mualim killed me with the Piece of Eden.

The Piece of Eden; the Apple. A wretched thing, the most wretched in all the world. It gave me this curse, and then I was free to kill those bastards who did this to me. I was blazing with vengeance, unleashed by the knowledge of my past and present. I would have my revenge on every one of them.

Templars. The powers that strung time along with a willing population obtained control of every business, invention, political movement, and mastermind of the past and current age. Even now, I still hunt them, taking out those I can and uncovering their secrets. Two-hundred and seventy years later, I still hunt them. They are resourceful. I fear we shall never see the end of them. After all, they are more than just men—they are a cause, and a cause is near impossible to assassinate.

But now I am getting a little ahead of myself. I have forgotten to mention the important cornerstone of this new age. I was there at its birth, as one of the attending midwives. Alongside my years of hunting, I watched over the descendants of Altaïr. I felt obligated, somehow. I never revealed myself to Altaïr again, once he thought me dead. It was better that way. But I found ways to interject myself into the lives of his descendants. Without them, what did I have to live for, really? Vengeance is not suitable for centuries. There needed to be more.

And he gave me more. Ezio Auditore da Firenze. I remember it well.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_Repubblica Fiorentina 1476_

Akilah took a slow, deep breath then smiled. She loved the water, rain or sea, and six months on a ship did not change that. But she missed the mainland, and it was good to set foot on it again. Firenze was such a beautiful city; how could she have nearly forgotten?

"Good to be back on land?" asked a sailor as he flung his sack over his shoulder and stopped beside her.

She smiled at him and nodded. "I was just thinking that. How do you always know, Vincenzo?"

He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. "That's my secret, desert maiden." He squeezed her shoulder and walked away. "Stay out of trouble, Akilah."

"I will." She waved him off then adjusted her scarlet hood over her head and strolled the street.

It had been a while since she visited Firenze. Thirteen years maybe? Give or take. Time was a minor thing for her, but she missed the people. They were superficial and flighty, but pleasantly fun and accepting. Blending in was all too easy here, even for a dark-skinned foreigner like herself. Not that she went unobserved, but nobody noticed her except for her exotic beauty.

Yes, she was a beauty. Years of wandering made her more and more aware of just how exquisite she was, especially in the land of pale people—or milk skins, as she often referenced. They liked her mystery and rarity, promoted it even. Ah yes, fifteenth century Italy was the greatest place in the world.

"Enough of your nonsense!"

Akilah stopped and looked down a side street. Two groups of men faced against one another challengingly, both heavy for a fight. The pack facing her was led by a man in black with a typical Italian-style hat and matching gloves. His face was thin and dark, shadowed by the creases in his maniacal features, and he sneered openly at the man opposite him. He must be Vieri di Pazzi, Francesco's son. What slime he developed into, just like his father. Even after thirteen years, it was easy to see the resemblance between padre and figlio.

She could not see the other man's face, but he was well-built even from a distance. And young, quite young. He dressed in handsome leather pants and a white tunic with boots, a silver-embroidered vest, and tight wrist guards in a rebellious though ruggedly attractive fashion. His long hair reminded her of an old friend, dear Giovanni. She would have to see him.

Not that he would see her. She knew him once, during a previous visit to Firenze, and she could not risk him realizing how very different she was not. But it would be good to see him.

"We were just talking about you," replied the mystery man. "Surprised to see you here. I thought the Pazzi hired others to do their dirty work."

"It's your family who cries for guards when there's trouble, codardo," barked Vieri. "Afraid to handle things yourself?" (coward)

"Your sister seemed quite satisfied with the handling I gave her earlier." The men around him laughed, and he turned his head to pass them a grin.

Akilah squinted then pressed her hand against her face. Ezio Auditore. So he _did_ take after his father. Old habits die hard in a family, she supposed, but honestly, what children. Luckily Giovanni grew out of it with time, but did he really have to pass it along to his sons?

The men suddenly yelled, and she looked up to see them charging at Vieri and his men. Ezio let them lead then balled up his fists and cracked a man directly in the nose, snapping the bones. It would be chaos from here; that was certain.

Akilah shook her head and carried on. As protective as she was of the family, win or lose, this was Ezio's fight, and she had no desire for a confrontation this early in her return. First, she needed to visit the doctor then inform Leonardo that she was back. He would be elated to see her. He was only eleven when she last saw him, but her secret was his. A slip of affairs leaked her situation, but he proved trustworthy. Leonardo was so open-minded, especially as a child, that he accepted her crazy story all too eagerly.

It would be good to see him as well.

Firenze was exactly as she remembered it, actually. A few new faces, some changed old ones, but the city itself had not altered. She liked that about cities. Like her, they rarely ever showed distinct difference through the ages. People brought changes into the city, but the city itself remained the same. It always would. Sure, buildings would fall, new ones would rise, borders would expand, architecture would evolve, but by the time a city accepted a mass amount of change, it was no longer the city. It was something new, not at all the same. People thought time revolutionized a place, but time did nothing. It did not even change people, except from smooth to wrinkly, the cradle to the grave. People changed things. They were the only thing that did.

"Well, well, well!"

Akilah smiled at the raven-masked man and bowed her head. "Dottore." (doctor)

"I haven't seen you in a decade! And look at you, still the same. We should all be so fortunate. Have you discovered the Fountain of Youth?" He laughed at his joke, and she actually smiled too.

"I've brought a few presents for you."

"Oh really? Presents from foreign lands, do tell."

Akilah relinquished her hold on the bag across her shoulders and sat it on the ground. She untied the top and pulled out a small wooden box. "This is a rare commodity, found only in my homeland. It cures skin ailments in a day, two at most. And this," she pulled out a cow-skin pouch and opened it for him to see, "is a special cream, guaranteed to soothe muscle pains in minutes. Simply massage it over the pain, and it will seep through the flesh and provide relief. No side effects."

She brushed her hands across the cream then sat it down and extended her other hand. "If I may?" The doctor took off his black glove and gave her his hand. She pressed the warm cream against the back of his hand, massaged it between his knuckles and down to his wrist, and rubbed it invisible.

He watched her close the pouch and tie her sack. "In minutes, you say?"

Akilah nodded and hoisted the pack onto her shoulders. "Most assuredly."

Suddenly, he jumped and rubbed his palm as his raven mask pointed at his hand. "Incredible! I do feel relief! How did you—"

"You have problems with your hands, don't you, Dottore?" She smiled at his surprise. "I remember you talking about it before. I brought this back just for you, free of charge."

The doctor swallowed, even behind his black apparel she could see it, and nodded. "Thank you. And I'll give you fifty florins for the skin remedy."

She accepted the money and handed him the box. "Till we meet again."

"Let it not be another decade, huh?" His voice smiled, and he threw his head up. "Come, let me cure all your ailments! I have fresh caught leeches today! Come! Bring me your sick and wounded!"

"Ben trovato, Doctor." (Good to see you)

Akilah looked up at the voice and instantly turned away. Federico made eye contact with her, but better him than Ezio. If Ezio were at all like he was as a child, anything would catch his interest, especially a dark-skinned foreigner. She pulled her hood further over her forehead and walked away.

"Hm, fratelli Auditore. Why am I not surprised?" the doctor said behind her. "You made quite a mess of yourself, young man." Akilah stopped and resisted the urge to turn and look. (Auditore brothers)

"It's nothing, really," Ezio replied irritably.

"You must help him," Federico pleaded teasingly. "That pretty face is his only asset." Ezio muttered a "fottiti," which she knew roughly as "go fuck yourself." Her Italian was always a little lacking, even after all these trying years, but Federico laughed at his brother's expense.

Akilah sat down at a nearby bench and reclined against the building. She should leave and be on her way, but it had been so long since she saw the children. Ezio was only four, and my how he had grown. He was ruggedly handsome, there was no need to argue that, and he looked remarkably like his father. But he was young, even by normal standards, and his impulsive tendencies were far too easy to see: in his posture, in his walk, the set of his jaw and the light in his eyes, even his style. He was visiting the doctor after a street brawl, for goodness sake. Yes, very young indeed.

The doctor finished with him decently, the sun was nearly set, and ordered them away. Ezio must be a regular. "There you are. Now get out of here."

"Grazie," said Ezio politely.

"This way." Federico nudged his brother's arm and lead the way.

Akilah situated her bag appropriately and stood. Enough child's play for now. She caught a glimpse of the brothers scaling a building then let them disappear behind her. She missed Giovanni and his family, but there were more important reasons for being in Firenze.

She crossed the city quickly in her cloak and shadows, and not a single soul passed a glance. The ability to infiltrate Firenze was almost too easy, even with Vieri's men patrolling for Ezio. It was a relief from the high security of her homelands, but the Italian knack for safeguarding the rich and ignoring the poor tickled the strands of her patience sometimes. How irrelevant _was_ life?

Akilah stopped outside a hidden wooden door and knocked twice. She did everything twice these days—at least twice. She had walked past this street twice before knocking.

The door flung open, and a hospitably confused man smiled politely. "Yes, how can I he—" He drifted off.

She raised her head a little higher and smiled. "How are you, Leonardo?"

Leonardo da Vinci gawked at her, an amusing sight in his cotton pajamas, and held the candle closer to her face. "A-Akilah?"

She nodded. "It's been a long time. I would've sent word, but you know how unreliable—"

He dropped the candle into the dirt and stepped out of the house. His arms flung wholly around her shoulders and hugged her close. "By the stars, I can't believe it's you! I've missed you, insegnante!" (teacher)

Akilah patted his back but smiled. Associating with people was one thing she seldom did twice, so hugging was a little awkward for her anymore. But it was nice to be missed. "Leonardo, might I suggest we go inside?"

"Oh!" He snapped back but took her hand and stepped aside. "Please, come in." She stepped through, and he quickly shut the door and led her further. "This is wonderful! I thought you might never return, for one reason or another." He stared over her excitedly. "Incredible. You are completely the same."

"Only on the outside." She pushed down her hood and looked around. "A humble abode, although I suggest better housekeeping." She motioned at the dead bodies in the corner.

"I hope not. Those bodies are important for my research."

"Still ever-curious, young Leonardo?"

"Of course." He grinned and held out his hands. "What brings you back to Firenze?"

"I'm following someone," she answered and glanced over her shoulder at the doorway. "Better you don't know more than that, and I actually didn't come for small talk."

"Oh?" He raised his eyebrows. "What did you come for?"

Akilah smiled again and gripped his arm, squeezing his elbow affectionately. "It's good to see you, Leonardo, truly, but I mostly need a haven that I can rely on."

"You're always welcome here." He took her hands and beamed. "I will make up a bed for you at once. Would you prefer sleeping upstairs or—"

"I'd rather sleep outside, actually." She shrugged. "I've gotten used to sleeping in the open, but it helps to have a roof to come back to."

He nodded then hugged her again. "It's so good to see you, Akilah. I'm glad you're all right."

Akilah hugged him back this time, her arms fitting well around his matured build. "You too, Leonardo."

* * *

The sky was beautiful tonight. The hour grew late, nearly two in the morning, and the sleepy silence of the people swelled the stars like fat fireflies. She liked fireflies, and Italy's stars were the closest to them in all Europe. They did not compare to the Holy Land's swirl of splattered milk and diamonds across a sky so populated the night hinted blue. No sky was more exquisite than the Holy Land's, especially with the ongoing desire of civilizations to destroy darkness. Every generation tried harder and harder to see the world by killing off shadows. They could not know that same light blinded them. But she liked fireflies, and Firenze's sky was overpopulated by them.

Akilah inhaled the smell of hay. The city slept. It was time to move.

She swallowed the last piece of bread, tucked the sash into her bag, and shoved the parcel under the wagon. It was nice Leonardo had a courtyard next to his home and even better that no one used it. She discarded the crimson cloak and pulled her long hair into a tight bun. She would move faster and quieter without it, and her dark skin and clothing would blend in best. The brown linen shirt may wisp a little too much, but the navy vest and brown leather pants would hold it in place.

She kept several weapons at her immediate disposal. Her most used was the scimitar strapped to her back. As a fairly heavy and foreign weapon, no one mastered the use of the scimitar except those in her homeland. That made it effective in dissuading enemies from turning her weapon against her. When the scimitar got lonely, she brought its rapier companion. Unlike other rapiers, hers was rather wide and a little abrupt, like a short sword. It was far too extravagant to be compared to a standard weapon, however, heavily adorned with amber and sapphire. She had it crafted in her first visit to Firenze, generations ago, and still admired the excellent Arabic writing down the blade.

She had knives, too, of course, but her most effective weapon was her long sword. Unlike the other weapons, she preferred not carrying it. The sword was crafted gauzily thin and reached a good four feet, its razor edge giving it its lethal trade. Except for its unusual mirage of translucence, it was plain. She had it made in her pursuit of the Mongols, so the wrapped handle and flat hand guard were traditional of Eastern warriors. She had killed only eight people with it, all Templars who beckoned her direct hand in their death.

But she discarded them now and shoved them deep into the hay. Only one weapon remained, shoved tightly into her belt. She never left without this dagger. Ever.

Akilah slipped off her knee-high black boots, threw them in the hay, and kissed the clear stone dangling from the silver chain around her neck.

Okay.

She kicked off the courtyard wall and grabbed onto the perpendicular balcony. She hoisted herself up with practiced ease and scaled the structure to the roof. Somehow, being closer to the sky made it look less fantastical. The fireflies were smaller and their home blacker. She hurried across the rooftops of Firenze, diving between shadows and moonlight, and ignored the habitual _ping_ of her earrings against her ears, like rain on diamonds. It was soft, too soft to draw attention, but some birds chirped at the sound.

She stopped at a perch overlooking a dead end alley and made a stark double take. A man fidgeted awkwardly at the mouth of a passage and examined the crossroads anxiously. He was rosy and well-dressed. Why would a groomed, plump man patrol the streets at this hour? She crouched, elbows on her knees, and hunched into darkness.

A boy ran up to him and passed a letter then ran off. The man ripped the envelope open, snapped the page out, and sighed. He shoved the contents under his jacket and hustled into his house, careful the door made no noise.

Akilah quirked an eyebrow. There was no need to spy, but that letter might be convenient. She checked her surroundings then stopped at an open window on her right. A couple lay naked in the moonlight, sprawled across the bed in exhaustion from their lovemaking. The woman had an arm tossed over the man's stomach and her face buried in the curve of his shoulder. His arm lay extended across the pillows, letting her head lay freely, and his other was flat at his side. His face looked to the ceiling, but he was clearly fast asleep.

And he looked remarkably familiar.

Akilah moved to the perpendicular rooftop, gripped the edge, and slowly unfurled herself down the wall onto the window sill. Her feet touched the wood softly, and she turned into the room. It was empty except for the lovers, and the candle across the room had long since been snuffed. She stepped inside and silently crossed to the bed.

Ezio was handsomer up close, even in his still uncouth youth. His hair splintered out of its tie at random spots, a result of nimble fingers adamantly digging through it, and he breathed heavily. There was no snoring, but the woman slept quieter. She was pretty, for certain, and also familiar. Probably Vespucci's daughter, whatever her name was—Akilah never had reason to remember. She had grown up quite a bit; exactly the type of woman eligible young men pursued.

Akilah leaned closer to Ezio's face and touched the small gash across his lips. Her fingers traced his jaw line then brushed his bangs away from his forehead and caressed his cheek. She smiled. "You've grown up, too, haven't you?" And so much like _him_; so much like Altaïr.

The lady in the bed shuddered somewhat, and Akilah noted the sheets clumped near their waists. She carefully straightened them and pulled them up to the girl's shoulders, tucking it carefully around her slender neck. Then she went back to the window, hopped up, and dived out into the street below.

Her earrings rang, and Ezio's eyes snapped open suddenly.

* * *

A horse screech made her start, and she cupped her forehead when it collided into the bottom of the hay wagon. Damnit, no matter how long she lived, some blunders were inherent. She rubbed the spot and crawled out from beneath the wagon. The sun sat high in the sky, and the world beyond the courtyard thrived with life. Another day.

Akilah strapped her cloak around her shoulders and yawned. Youthful or not, she was getting too old for these late nights. She yanked on her boots and left the courtyard for Leonardo's door. She knocked twice then walked in without an answer. Leonardo stood at the far end of the room hunched over a collection of fresh paintings. "Good day, Leonardo."

Leonardo turned brightly and beamed. "Good day, Akilah! Nice to see you up and about." He stepped up to her and squinted excitedly at her face. "_Incredible_. You look younger than me!"

"I am younger than you, my very young sir. Now where's food?"

"I'm afraid I haven't gone shopping recently," he reconciled. "But there's a small market not far from here if you're hungry. Perhaps you could pick something up for me as well?"

Akilah ignored his playful grin and plopped down in a seat. "I'll think about it." She picked up one of the paintings and looked it over. It was incomplete, but she recognized the place. "The Auditore home?"

"Sì. It's such a beautiful building, don't you think? I really enjoy the open, simple architecture of it. I take it you've seen it before?"

Akilah smirked and put down the canvas. "Once or twice."

"You should go more often, the Auditores are good people. I do work for the lady of the house, Madonna Maria Auditore."

She grinned. "You sound quite smitten, Leonardo."

He blushed but waved her comment away. "Madonna Maria is a good customer and lover of the arts. I appreciate her enthusiasm."

"I see." She resisted the urge to tease further. Truth be told, Leonardo was so devoted to learning that he would probably pass from the world a bachelor.

"What are your plans today?"

Right. More important matters at hand than Leonardo's lacking love life. "I'm not sure yet. I was wondering if you could help me with something."

"Of course!"

She reached into her pocket and pulled out the letter from the night before. She unfolded the parchment and tossed it onto his work table. "I acquired this letter last night from a man named Quirino. He works for a Uberto Alberti, someone I assume is of importance here in Firenze."

"Certainly," Leonardo nodded and read through the letter. "He's a gonfaloniere and ally of Lorenzo de Medici, a statesmen currently residing over Firenze. A de factor ruler, so to speak."

"I've heard of him. Lorenzo the Magnificent, yes?"

"The same."

"A good man?"

Leonardo looked up curiously. "I believe so. He has many enemies, but the people love him, and he seems to have their best interests in mind. Alberti isn't quite so popular, or approachable, but he hasn't betrayed Lorenzo yet." He turned the letter over in his hand and held it up for her to see. "Who is the 'Spaniard'?"

Akilah shrugged. "I'm not sure yet, but I intend to find out. I'm more curious what his relation is with Alberti, and if it's serious, does it tie into Lorenzo?" She knew the Spaniard, that damn Roderigo Borgia. She managed to track him this far, but what was his association with Alberti? Or was Alberti a middle man, and Lorenzo was the true correlation? Was Lorenzo involved with the Templars?

Someone knocked lightly on the door.

Leonardo folded up the letter and handed it back to her. "You should keep this hidden until you know what it means. I'd rather you didn't become involved in something over your head." He went to answer the door, and she smiled. Even dear Leonardo was growing up.

She sighed. Why did the aging generations always surprise her?

"Hello, Leonardo."

"Madonna Maria!"

Akilah looked up and saw Maria Auditore in the doorway. Leonardo was hospitable, as usual, and kissed her cheeks in greeting. What was she doing here? Akilah glanced at the paintings again and realized they were being prepared for purchase.

"This is my son, Ezio," Maria continued.

"Molto onorato!" he greeted with a bow. (It's a pleasure to meet you)

"L'onore ë mio," Ezio replied and set his hand on his heart for a return bow. (The honor is mine)

Akilah tried not to show curiosity for their arrival but stood and crossed the room to the bed of deceased. The stink was subdued, but the smell of rotting innards could never be killed by any perfume or incense. The bodies had been there a while, probably over a week, and the only remaining odor was that of their progressive decay. If death had a smell, this would be it.

"Let me go and fetch the paintings. I'll be right back." Leonardo came back into the room and gathered up the paintings carefully in a small box.

Across the room, Akilah listened with keen interest to the customers outside.

"He's _very_ talented," Maria said admiringly.

"Immagino," discarded Ezio. (I guess)

"Self-expression is vital to understanding and enjoying life. _You_ should find an outlet."

"I have plenty of outlets."

"_I meant besides vaginas_," she replied sternly.

"_Mother_," groaned Ezio, bored.

Akilah smiled but kept her back on the scene. She read over the letter again, staring at the contents. The Spaniard was here in Firenze, somehow hiding amongst one of his many followers. Was Alberti a traitor? Or was it Lorenzo?

"Akilah," Leonardo interrupted, and she turned. "I'm sorry, but I need to go with Madonna Maria."

"It's fine," she answered, nodding reassuringly. "I should go to the market."

Leonardo prepared to lift the box then stopped and glanced at her. "Oh yes, I forgot to mention, Alberti is friends with Giovanni Auditore as well, Madonna Maria's husband."

Akilah's eyes sharpened. "Giovanni?"

"Sì. They have some sort of business venture, I expect, but Alberti has made many visits to the Auditore home of late."

She took a moment. "I'd like to see the Auditore home again, in fact. Perhaps I'll also escort Signora Maria home?"

"O-Of course!" He beamed. "Come!" He hoisted up the box and hauled it to the door. "Back to your house then?"

"Sì, sì," Maria accepted pleasantly. "Ezio, help Leonardo, will you?"

Akilah hesitated out of sight then stepped in the doorway. Ezio met her eye instantly and stopped mid-bend, his hands hovering above the box of paintings. His mouth hung just slightly, those matured lips parted in shock. He was so very young, but it made her skin flush to be watched by a man so similar from before—so very much like his ancestor.

"Oh, who is this?" Maria asked with a smile.

"Forgive me," apologized Leonardo. "Madonna, Ezio, this is my friend, Akilah Sharif. Her father is a merchant in the Holy Land, and she is visiting here on business. Akilah, this is Maria Auditore and her son, Ezio."

"It's nice to meet you," Maria greeted and bowed appropriately. Akilah returned the gesture, and Maria tapped Ezio beneath the chin, snapping his mouth shut.

He straightened awkwardly then smiled and held out his hand. "A pleasure, Signorina."

Akilah set her hand in his, and he kissed it slowly. His fingers teased hers before she slipped it free. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. If it's all right, I'd like to accompany you home."

"Of course!" Maria tucked her arm through Akilah's and led the way. "Come, let's hurry home. I'm eager to put Leonardo's new paintings up in the house." They lead the patrol, but Ezio and Leonardo kept at their heels.

"So Ezio, what do you do?" Leonardo asked pleasantly.

"He's been working for his father," said Maria over her shoulder.

"Ah! You're to be a banker?"

"For now," Ezio replied with a hint of amused sarcasm. "And you? Art, was it?"

Leonardo paused, and Akilah caught a glimpse of him with a backward glance. He gazed at the sky, that childlike smile still present. Just like thirteen years ago. "Truth be told, it's been difficult for me to settle. Painting is nice, but I often feel like my work lacks—I don't know, eh, _purpose_. Does that make sense? I'd rather contribute more practically. More directly. Architecture, perhaps, or anatomy. I'm not content to merely capture the world; I want to change it."

"Oh Leonardo," Maria gushed and smiled over her shoulder at him. "I have no doubt you'll go on to do _great_ things."

"Vi ringrazio, Madonna. That's kind of you." (Thank you)

"What about you, Signorina?" Akilah blinked and glanced at Ezio, who watched her interestedly. "What is your trade?"

"Yes, tell us," urged Maria.

Akilah was used to making up stories, and Leonardo had already given her all the blueprints she needed. "My father transports caravans across the deserts in the Southern world, but international business is essential for my family's survival. I'm traveling for business relations and potential changes in familial occupation." She passed Ezio a sly look. "I infiltrate cultures, in short."

"Sounds fascinating," Maria awed. "Isn't it dangerous for a woman, especially a young beauty such as yourself?"

"Assuredly," she agreed. "But my father taught me to fear no man, no matter how cunning."

"You're a very brave girl. It must be difficult work."

"Not as difficult as one might suspect. I've had a lot of experience."

"Experienced women are best at understanding a cunning world," said Ezio. Cunning indeed, womanizer.

They reached the Auditore home, and Akilah stopped at the door. "Experienced women also recognize the similarity between cunning and juvenility, _young_ Ezio."

Ezio passed her a sly look, and Maria ushered him through the door into the courtyard. He sat the box down in front of the door, and Maria patted his shoulder. "Thank you for your help, son. Don't let _me_ keep you from your other duties." She made a noticeable look at Akilah outside the courtyard, and Akilah averted her gaze.

"It's nice to meet you, Ezio," said Leonardo. "I hope our paths cross again."

"Anchio," Ezio replied. (Me too)

Leonardo came back outside and touched Akilah's arm. "Shall we return then?"

Akilah smiled at him then glanced up at the Auditore archway. "Actually, I think I'll stay out for a while. I need to visit the market anyway, yes?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I will wait for you at home, shall I?"

"I wouldn't want to come between you and your hobbies." He bowed out, and she watched him dissolve into the crowd. "Ambitious Leonardo." She looked up at the Auditore home and sighed. It was a beautiful home, for sure, but altogether it was rather bland. A square structure with the center cut out for a private courtyard left much to be desired in potential elegance, especially in the middle of a cluttered city like Firenze. Still, Maria worked hard in decorating the inside, Akilah was sure.

Despite its unsophisticated taste, the simplicity made it easy for climbing and easier for spying. She would have to check on Giovanni later, if time permitted. But, as she promised, she needed to visit the market.

Suddenly, Ezio stormed through the front gate and down the side of the house without noticing her. His face darkened in the corners, and he clenched his fists tightly.

Akilah ducked her head inside, and a young woman sat on a bench. She did not know her, but the similarity to Giovanni distinguished her as an Auditore. And she sniffled into her palm, hiding her reddish eyes. Akilah quirked an eyebrow then followed after Ezio.

"Ezio!"

Ezio whipped around aggressively but relaxed at the sight of her. "Akilah?"

"Where are you going?"

He scowled and marched on. "To find Duccio, the bastard."

"Duccio?" She didn't know the name. "Who is Duccio?"

"A dead man." He turned the next road and held out his hand for her stop. They leaned out into the crowd and watched a couple a few feet away.

"_Oh_ _Duccio_, it's beautiful!" gushed a plump woman. Not attractive in the slightest, even if she were thinner. Akilah could not help but picture the woman's nose turned up and oinking.

"Nothing but the best for you, amore mio," the man replied. He was not appetizing either. In fact, he reminded her a great deal of Vieri. There was just something very sniveling—ratty, really—about him. (my love)

"But what of Claudia?" asked the woman and shoved him back tauntingly. "I thought you'd been promised to her?"

"Father said I could do much better than an Auditore." Ah, now it made sense. Ratter was cheating on Sniffles with Pigget.

He grabbed her huge derriere, and she shoved him playfully. "Birbante!" Then she was instantly over the offense. "Come, let us walk a bit." (rascal)

"Walk?" He scooped an arm around her waist, which barely reached past her spine, and pulled her against him. "I had something else in mind."

"Oh Duccio," she giggled and they kissed.

Ezio pushed out from their hiding place and strode toward them. "Ehi, lurido porco!" (Hey, dirty pig)

Duccio released the woman instantly and smiled. "Ezio, my friend!"

Ezio punched him in the face, and the man fell back with a cry. Akilah rushed forward, and Duccio scurried back to his feet. "You insult my sister," snapped Ezio, "parading around with this puttana." The pig looked offended, and Akilah couldn't blame her. She knew "whore" in almost every language.

"Wh-What are you talking about?" Duccio stuttered, knowing full well he was caught.

"I saw the gift you gave her," Ezio answered darkly. "Heard the things you said."

Duccio wiped his lip on the back of his hand and put a finger in Ezio's face. "Maybe your sister shouldn't be so stingy with her virtū—" Ezio smacked Duccio's hand away. (virginity)

"You broke her heart."

"Hah! And now I'm going to break your face." Duccio raised his fists and paraded around Ezio in a defensive dance. "You Auditores always talk big, but when it comes time for action—"

Ezio punched him in the face again then rammed his knee straight up against his nose. Duccio fell back instantly, and Ezio grabbed a handful of his hair. "Stay away from my sister!" He pulled back a fist, but Akilah grabbed his wrist. They exchanged a look.

"Stop." Duccio broke free from Ezio and ran away, screaming like the coward he was. Ezio tried to follow, but Akilah blocked him and pushed him back. "Stop it, Ezio!"

"That pezzo di merda insulted my sister! I should rearrange his face, so he can't find another puttana to cheat with!" (piece of shit)

"Your sister was a fool to fall for him in the first place," she answered evenly.

"What did you say?" He stepped dangerously close and stared her down.

Akilah kept his eyes. "He's a rat and was so when he first pursued Claudia. If your sister saw it before, she was a fool to still be with him. If not, she was a fool for not seeing. She's young and made a foolish decision. Do not hold Duccio responsible for your sister's naivety."

Ezio glared and raised his finger directly at her face. "Do not talk about my sister like you know anything," he said sternly. "And don't defend that bastard and his harpies. What would a foreigner know?" He hissed, whipped around, and stormed away.

Akilah shook her head and pulled her hood up. "Men."

"Signorina?"

She turned and nearly sighed at the sight of Duccio, treating his bleeding nose and shuffling up carefully. "I thought you ran away."

"I would have, Signorina, but, I had to assure myself that you were all right. Coming between Ezio and I was very dangerous. Are you…a friend of the Auditores?"

"No." She started to leave, but he grabbed her elbow and smiled.

"We were not properly introduced. My name is Duccio. And you are…?" She stared at him, and he shuffled awkwardly. "Forgive me, but, I was hoping you might help me home? I fear I will not make it in one piece if he comes after me again."

"You're afraid he will attack you on your way home?"

"I am not _afraid_, but it is possible. You saw him now."

She smiled and pushed her hood down again. "I see your point. Walking around so exposed can be quite dangerous."

"Exactly," he beamed.

"I really should ensure you the safest return home."

"I would greatly appreciate it."

"Then I shall accommodate." She grabbed his hair and rammed his face into the side of the building. He fell like a rock, forehead bleeding, but was otherwise unscathed by the attack. She unfastened her cloak and draped it over his unconscious body. Luckily for her, she had not put her weapons back on from the night before, so she would not stand out more than she already did.

She tucked it around his neck and patted his shoulder. "This should cover you come nightfall." She stood, brushed off her hands, and left.

* * *

Firenze was rusting in the depravity of its people, but this renaissance thrived in the slums of the underbelly. She preferred the underbelly of this period and place. Damascus housed poor cutthroats and rich savages. Not that Europe did not have its own questionables slithering through the back streets, but there was something much greater than that consuming these alleys that eluded her own. Art. Beyond standard art, if there truly was such a thing, self-expression and original thought flourished. People could be anything they wanted to be here, as long as it did not cost money—and artistry never did, in hence lay its beauty.

Akilah leaned on a door, the top half pulled open for visitors, and smiled at the man inside. He rubbed down the long, cylindrical strip of wood until it glowed sandy brown. His eyes stared off into the distance, but he had been blind for several years; he did not need to see the perfection of his work to recognize it. He tapped one foot and hummed a cheery tune as the dust drizzled to the hay floor.

She knocked, and he smiled toward the door. "Be right with you. I'm just finishing up here." He rubbed a few more seconds then felt the post. The wood caressed him back, flowing easily along his calloused palm, and the pores of his skin appreciated the silky smoothness. He smiled again then lay the piece down and walked for the door. "What can I do for you?"

Akilah opened the door and extended her hand. "What other services does a carpenter offer?"

His chest reached her palm, and he eagerly grabbed her hand. "A-Akilah?"

She clutched his hand and touched his face with the other. "It's been too long, Ilario."

"Indeed!" He gripped her hand excitedly between his and beamed the few teeth he still maintained. "My goodness, your skin is just as soft as ever! God has been generous to you, hasn't He?"

"I suppose so."

Her long sleeves kept him from inspecting the rest of her skin, but he turned and pulled her into a freshly made chair. "It's been far, far too long. A good thirteen years, bless my soul! What have you been doing all this time? Still selling art?"

"Creativity waits on no one, I'm afraid."

"It certainly doesn't." He sat down beside her and beamed, all the while keeping his hold on her hand. "Tell me what brings you here."

Akilah was grateful he could not see her; otherwise, he would have seen the sadness on her face. They had not seen each other in so long, but she had not come for camaraderie. "I need to know what I've missed in Firenze. I've heard tell it's a good city for artistic prosperity, but political affairs have pressed their problems into social ones."

"I'm afraid so. I suppose the most important affair you've missed is the assassination of Galeazzo Maria Sforza."

She was taken aback. "The Duke of Milano?"

"Sì, at mass during the Feast of Santo Stefano."

This was an unprecedented turn of events. Sforza was a lustful man, and she questioned his morals, but he was well-protected and prosperous. He ruled with an iron fist for the ten years he reigned, but it seemed fate had other plans in store for him. Not just anyone could pull that off, not even in the midst of a crowd like the Feast of Santo Stefano.

"Do you know who did it?"

"Gerolamo Olgiati and Carlo Visconti escaped the mass, but Giovanni Lampugnani was not so fortunate. The people hung his decapitated body upside down from his own home, and his head and 'sinning' hand were kept as warnings for any who might attempt further acts against the Milanese court."

Visconti made sense. Sforza was an infamous womanizer, and for good reason. He was handsome and a pleasing lover—she herself had bedded him more than once. Who could blame Carlo for suspecting Sforza of stealing his sister's virginity? Olgiati was a bit surprising; when had he fallen out with the Duke? But Lampugnani, the cad. His family was evicted from their lands, that she heard and understood, but assassination was hardly the appropriate manner of revenge. Now the family lacked another man and would be stained by history. Such a shame.

"But that is only the beginning of our problems," Ilario continued. "With Sforza dead, Lorenzo de Medici has lost a powerful ally against those who seek to tarnish the Medici name."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "Who would desire Lorenzo's downfall? They say he leads the Golden Age of Firenze."

"That he does, but no one knows just yet who these villains are. Giovanni Auditore has been investigating the matter for Lorenzo, but, things have not been going well."

Akilah straightened but kept her voice even. "What has he found out?"

"He traveled to Venezia recently and discovered a correlation from Marco Barbarigo."

"Cousin of Emilio Barbarigo, the tyrant of Venezia?"

"Sì. He sought to exchange a coded letter with a man named Rodrigo Borgia."

She resisted the urge to hiss at his name. "He's been after the papacy for years."

"That is what I hear also. Unfortunately, Giovanni lost him in Roma and was injured. Father Antonio Maffei went by his house later, with guards, but Giovanni was gone. Since then, Uberto Alberti has visited Giovanni's home on numerous occasions."

Her eyes narrowed. "What does Alberti have to do with it?"

"He's the gonfaloniere and ally of Lorenzo. I suspect he aids Giovanni in his investigation. I've always found him to be a sniveling old sinner, but if Giovanni and Lorenzo trust him, there must be some good in him."

"Don't place so much trust in the trust of others, Ilario." She thought a moment. "The letter you said Giovanni intercepted. Did they decode it?"

"No, Signorina, I'm afraid they didn't. But Uberto still has the original letter. They sent a copy to Borgia, so they might use the document as evidence in later trials."

There would not be a later trial. If they did not catch him in Roma, they never would. Not with a measly letter. She had stalked and plotted against him for years, but he was as hard to overthrow as the Pope himself. There were just too many people to go through, far too much propriety and secrecy. But he would not escape her again. She had all the time in the world, and he was only getting older. Perhaps his power grew, but eventually his body would fail him and he would slip. She would be there in that moment.

"Grazie, Ilario. I must go."

"Akilah," he beckoned, and she stopped at the door. "This new era has brought much prosperity for the people, but it has brought with it sinister bloodshed. Be careful."

She nodded and left. But he was wrong. Time did not change anything. Choices did, and that power was left only in the hands of mankind. A terrible decision in itself.

* * *

The market was quite full, even for Firenze. The markets of her day opened themselves to every vendor in the city, but, in this age, tradesmen had their own shops or corners. This particular market was composed entirely of foods, where fishermen, butchers, bakers, and farmers reigned supreme. This was their place, and they ran it well based on the over-populated atmosphere.

But she liked it. Many countries had done away with mass markets anymore, preferring to find their own spots for business. Those that did not were second-rate, and she hated the way every person with a liver or grain to sell clustered together obnoxiously. She was a level-headed woman, but those horrible streets made her nearly claustrophobic. She liked Firenze's food market, as single-minded as it was. She liked the intertwining of smells.

"Help you, miss?"

Akilah looked up from the fruit table and smiled politely at the seller on the other side. His voice was gruff, but he smiled jollily at her. "Just looking for now."

"Let me know if you need anything."

She waited until he left then leaned over the large watermelons. One on the right was dirty and dented in a few places, but large and strong. Then again, one on the left was ripe for the picking, with its grassy-green skin and perfect sound when she knocked on it. She could nearly taste its juicy crunchiness. But, was it really the right one?

"I would go with the one on the right."

She turned her head. "Oh?"

Ezio leaned just near her shoulder, nodded, and glanced at her. "In my experience, the ones with the rough outside are usually the nicest inside."

"In your experience?" He nodded again, and she smirked. "You have great practice with shopping for food, then?"

He crossed one arm under his elbow and cupped his chin with the other. "Mm, perhaps not shopping, but I've done more than my fair share of eating, and trust me when I say, appearances aren't everything."

"Aren't they?" She smiled at his slyly arched eyebrow and turned back to the vendor. "Signore, I'd like this one, please." She pointed at the right melon, and he scooped it up for packing.

Ezio watched her, probably expecting some further reaction, but she kept her eyes forward. "I'm sorry." Her eyes shifted but still kept off him. "I shouldn't have said those things to you earlier. I was brash, and…perhaps my sister is a bit spoiled. But she has a good heart."

"I never said she didn't."

"Of course." He grinned somewhat and touched one of the melons. "But it seems I am not the only one a little rough around the edges, am I?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I went back to find you, but you were already gone."

Akilah looked at him. "Did you expect I would wait for you?"

He smirked. "Not likely. But I also didn't expect to find Duccio, out cold and covered with a red cloak."

"That is indeed how I left him."

He tucked his hands behind his back and walked slowly around her. "The cloak doesn't particularly blend in, and an unconscious, bleeding man makes it all the more noticeable. I thought, why would she leave this beautiful cloak? It serves no purpose lying here on this culo. And then it hit me." He stopped at her other side, crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned back against the table. His smile was confident. "You left it there for me. Somehow you knew I would come back, and you wanted me to return it to you." (ass)

Akilah resisted rolling her eyes. Yes, _very_ much like a young Giovanni. She pulled out the florins for the melon and handed them to the vendor. "Did I?"

"Admit it," Ezio said playfully, completely certain of his theory. "Look me in the eye and tell me you didn't want to see me again."

She accepted the wrapped melon and turned swift eyes on him. "I didn't. Now if you'll excuse me." She made three steps past him before he grabbed the melon out of her grasp and shoved something into her chest. She glanced down at the scarlet cloak then back at him.

He shrugged. "It looks better on you."

Perhaps he was being flirtatious for the umpteenth time, but she felt flattered this time when he looked away awkwardly. Giovanni was villainously flirtatious in his day, and that was how he made so many friends so easily. But he was never cunning. Friendly and charming, but not cunning. Ezio learned that on his own, or maybe he was born with it. Either way, it was that cunning appeal that attracted the women like bees to honey, and Ezio knew he held a certain sway over women. The battle was half the fun; charming them again and again was the other.

Perhaps he was being flirtatious, but perhaps he was being friendly.

"Thank you," she said politely.

He beamed and lifted the melon. "Let me walk you home." Hm, for him, flirtation and friendliness were obviously inseparable.

Akilah wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and tied it at the throat. "I'm staying with Leonardo for now. He's a friend of the family."

He glanced off into the crowd, momentarily lost in his own thoughts. "Yes, Leonardo does seem the hospitable type." Then he returned his attention. "But I will still walk you."

"It's really quite all right. I have a few provisions back with my luggage, and this melon is all I need. I can carry it alone, there's no need to—"

"It's no trouble," he interrupted smoothly.

She raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have errands to run for your father?"

"My father is a patient man and would understand if I saw to it a lone signorina made it home safely." He extended his arm down the street and inclined his head. "After you."

Akilah subdued a full smile but let a small one show and led the way. "You have an astute prowess about you, Ezio Auditore."

"Grazie, Signorina."

"But," she continued, "a womanizer like you should never be taken seriously."

He pressed a hand against his chest and hurried beside her. "Whatever do you mean? I am a perfect gentleman."

"All gentlemen have vaginal outlets?" she asked innocently. He blushed but smirked and looked at her the same way he had his mother. She smiled. "And I've heard all about you and the Vespucci girl. You have quite a record around town, in fact. Not one for monogamy, then?"

"In this day and age, who is?" he asked honestly then winked at her. "Is abstinence normal where you come from?"

"It's required." She tried not to laugh at his shock. "In my country, women cover their hair and face." She imitated with her hands, staring through them at his curious eyes. "My people believe a woman's beauty is only meant for her husband's eyes. If someone other than her family or husband sees her, she is considered unclean, and men who see her could be executed."

"_Executed_?" he gawked.

She nodded and tried not to laugh at him. "It's very serious. Marriage is essential for a woman's survival, so abiding by this rule is vital to a family's endurance." She averted her eyes. "Women are meant to be property, a bartering tool between households and a slave to her husband. We are born with little freedom and give up all of it once we wed. It's our lot."

Ezio shook his head and scowled. "It's not right to treat a woman like that. Barbaric."

"Is it?" She watched him playfully and tapped the melon dangling at his side. "I believe the European term for bartering families is 'propriety,' and women are meant to meddle in only feminine cornerstones—never further. Our worlds are not so different, except it is more accepted here for women to fight the life they are born into. They are allowed to be crafty in their own right."

"We don't treat our women as slaves. We don't tote them like jewels."

"'Father said I could do better than an Auditore.' Duccio's exact words, no? And tell me, Ezio, is the Signorina Vespucci ugly and poor? Or is she a reputable conquest?"

He grinned. "You sell me short, Signorina. I only wish to treat a woman as she deserves."

"The beautifully wealthy need no more dotting," she said frankly. Only then did she realize they had left the market and now headed back to Leonardo's.

"And how does _your_ husband feel about you traveling the world, face uncovered for all to see?" If she did not know better, she would say there was a hint of boyish curiosity beneath that manly play.

"He accepts what must be done and loves me all the more for it." His face dropped somewhat, and she grinned. "At least he will once I find the right man to marry."

The spring in his step returned, and he tucked his arms behind his back. "But in your homeland men do not marry women who show their faces. I suppose that means you must marry a foreigner?"

She shrugged. "When you've seen as much of the world as I have, you learn that things change. So too may the rules of my people."

He shook his head and watched the road. "You're too beautiful to be left to time and chance, Akilah."

Hmph. Time and chance; what else was there for her?

They stopped, and he pointed at the building beside them. "My home. Would you mind if I run in and see what my father needs? Then I will walk you to Leonardo's."

"It's fine, I can walk by myself."

"I insist, I must take you back. But, please, if I may?"

Akilah suppressed another smile and nodded. "All right."

He grinned, that still quite boyish grin. "Please, come inside. My father will be delighted to meet you."

She kept her smile, though now it was forced. "No, it's all right. I'll wait here."

"I insist—"

"I insist back. I don't want to interrupt your father's work."

"It's really all right—"

"I'll wait." He watched her, and she knew he knew there would be no persuading her on the matter.

"Very well. But, please, come off the street. You're a guest, even if you won't come inside." He grinned playfully at her and went in.

Akilah waited a moment then scanned the windows of the house. The original letter may be here somewhere, if Uberto was left in charge of decoding it. Borgia was a clever opponent, but how had he known Giovanni would follow? Giovanni was no fool, even in his youth. Somehow Borgia was tipped off, and she got the distinct feeling that copied letter was not quite as exact to its original as Uberto guaranteed.

But she could not go in now. It was too risky with everyone home, and in broad daylight. She would wait until night and search the house, when Giovanni was off performing other services for Lorenzo.

She turned without further ado and hurried down the street. She had intervened too much in Ezio's affairs as it was. It was best to bow out now before he got too curious.

* * *

Night came quickly after she returned to Leonardo's. Her errands kept her far beyond her expected time, and she used her acquired expertise to whip up a warm dinner, creating an exquisite cake of the purchased melon. Leonardo sat eagerly at the table and beamed at the array of foods. "My goodness! Thank Heaven for this _bountiful_ meal we are about to receive!"

Akilah laughed and sat down across from him. "You truly are quite absurd, Leonardo. A man of your talents should look into cooking; otherwise you might starve to death before you can change this complicated world around you."

He blushed, but his grin never faltered. "Perhaps we should just buy a house in the country so you can stay all the time and prepare meals. Tonight, I dine more magnificently than English royalty!" He raised his cup. "To you, my ingenious teacher!"

She raised her own goblet and tapped it against his. "And to you, in the hopes you shall continue your own ingenious path and give credit where credit is due once you fall in with the prestigious, hm?" He chuckled, and they drank.

Leonardo picked up his silverware and dug in fervently. "So, what all did you do today?"

"I visited some familiar faces mostly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"They're all blind, of course." He suppressed another grin, and she winked. "I needed to check on a few things, find out how long I'm going to stay, and make arrangements."

"Arrangements?" She eyed him, and he nodded. "Right. Better if I don't know."

"Trust me when I say it."

He shoved a fork full of food into his mouth and watched her jovially. "So how long _are_ you planning on staying?"

She shrugged. "I still don't know."

He averted his eyes playfully. "I'm sure Ezio Auditore will come calling for you again."

She resisted kicking his shins. "He's a boy, a very naïve, irresponsible boy, and _you_ would do best not to indulge his boyish fantasies, capito?" (understand)

"Of course, nonna." (grandma)

Now she kicked him, and he bit down on his fork. "I should know better than to tell a boy how to behave around other boys."

"Yes, you certainly should." They smiled at each other and finished off dinner in pleasant silence.

Akilah slipped away after Leonardo went to bed, and this time she brought her scimitar strapped to her back. She tied the cloak over her shoulders and crossed the short distance to the Auditore residence. Hopefully Giovanni would be gone by now. If not, infiltrating the home could prove easy enough, but the escape might require more tact.

She stood outside the main entrance and observed the square. No lights shone in the windows, but even darkness had its companions. People like she and Giovanni lived in it, and children preferred ungodly hours. Yet something made her cross the courtyard and touch the door handle. Ridiculous to even try the door; she did not even bother to observe it as she turned the handle. It gave way instantly, and her eyes snapped down. Unlocked? Unlikely.

She slowly stepped inside and frowned at the tousled entrance hallway. Someone paid a visit before her.

Akilah suddenly bolted for the room at the end of the hall and flung the door open. The office lay in disarray as well, but most important was the hidden passage lying open at the far end. She stormed through it and tossed open the chest. "Shit."

Giovanni's personal documents were gone, along with whatever else the chest previously contained. Damnit! She kicked the chest and left the room. Damn Rodrigo! Damn him, damn that man! How could he have known exactly where the papers would be? How could he have infiltrated Giovanni so easily? And what was on that letter!

The letter. Wait. She furrowed her brow and stopped in the hallway. Why did he need the original letter? Surely he must know what was on it. And why risk directly involving himself when Giovanni knows his secret?

Alberti, of course. So he dangled Medici by a string, clever, but even Alberti would not risk being directly involved in thievery of an important citizen like Giovanni. Although, if not he or Rodrigo, who took the documents?

She checked the window habitually and reached for the knob. But a man stood outside, his dark eyes gazing at the home. He dressed in a white hood, lined with scarlet and a handsome brown cape. And his belt crest…

Akilah gawked. "Ezio." But then he was gone again, hidden amidst the street's shadows. She flung the door open and bolted after him. Did he have the letter? Had he—poor Giovanni, if his own son—

No, Ezio would not betray his family. Not an Auditore. One thing, though, she was convinced of: Ezio took the letter from his father's office. But did he still have it? Dear God, please still have it, Ezio!


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It had been years ago since their last encounter. Before his personal conquests, Rodrigo's father connived his way through a hidden legacy of bloodshed and manipulation. She dispatched him quickly enough whilst in Firenze and moved to dispel Rodrigo from the world, too. He was just a boy, but already he showed great similarity to his wicked father. She would kill Rodrigo.

And she would have succeeded if not for _him_, all those years ago.

Little Ezio cried but slammed his fist into the other boy's face. They were both battered and bruised on the ground, blood smearing their noses and lips. The other boy had long passed out, but Ezio kept punching.

Rodrigo's ship left the port any minute, and he may be lost for years if she let him escape. But what was time to her? A few minutes or several decades, she would find him again.

Akilah grabbed Ezio under the armpits and yanked him on his feet. He struggled to free himself, but she released him immediately. "Calm down, pup."

"I'm not a pup!" he shouted and kicked the fallen boy. "The merda insulted my family! Figlio di puttana!" He certainly had a mouth on him, something his father never taught him. The next generation was always so much crasser than the last. (shit) (son of a bitch)

She maneuvered between the children and held him at arm's length. "You insult your family's name by beating an enemy when he's down."

Ezio's little eyes stared at her, the anger temporarily flushed, and she saw his mind change gears. He was in a distant place, far from the fight, but a blink quickly brought it back. "Who are you, Madonna?"

There was still time to reach the ship if she ran, discretion at the wind. She took Ezio's hand and smiled. "Let's get you cleaned up so your mother might believe you only hit a door, eh?"

She should have gone after Rodrigo. It was one mistake she could never forgive or redeem. It took over ten years, and she was hot on his tail finally.

But that damnable boy stood in her way again.

"Ezio!" she hissed and yanked him into an empty courtyard.

Ezio instantly jerked free and spun around, hand touching his sword hilt. He did not relax when he saw her. "Akilah! What're you doing out at this hour?"

"I might ask you the same thing." She stepped toward him, and he drew his sword against her throat. There was no patience for him this time. "Where's the letter your father gave you?"

His eyes narrowed. "How do you know about that?"

It was in his eyes: he had already delivered it. Damn. She swatted his sword away and turned. "You didn't think to read it?"

"Why would I distrust my own father?"

"It's not about trust, and if it were, you should know by now that trust in a person doesn't mean you must trust the ones they do. Your friends' friends are not _your_ friends."

"What are you suggesting?"

"I'm suggesting, _boy_," she spun on him, "you forget your feelings and use your brain. What did you do with the letter?"

He glared at her still. "How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you haven't been lying since this morning?"

"You don't," she answered simply and waved her hand. "No need, I can guess." How was she going to salvage this? The letter was out of her hands now; it was in the enemy's arsenal, but damned if she be defeated yet. "When is your father's trial?"

The subject brought fear in his eyes, and the end of his sword lowered. "They're to be tried tomorrow at noon."

No time then. She tightened her cloak and turned for the street, but his grip on her arm kept her in the shadows. Their eyes met, and his hold softened. "Please, stay with me."

She couldn't. He stood in her way before, but time was against her this moment, and Giovanni could not be sacrificed because of Rodrigo. That made her his murderer as well. She needed every minute.

But his eyes were more compelling than they were as a boy, and he was so lost. He had no direction, no friend. He was her, all those years ago.

Akilah sighed and motioned at a bundle of hay in the corner of the courtyard. "Let's rest. You'll need it no matter what the outcome of tomorrow."

"How can I sleep knowing my father and brothers are in prison?" He shook his head and grabbed both of her arms. "Tell me what's happening. How did you know about my father's arrest, or the letter? Who are you?"

"An ally," she reassured. "Now you must rest. You're no good to anyone exhausted."

"I'm not tired." Like arguing with a baby. Very well; mother she would be.

Akilah walked over to the hay, dug a hole in the middle, and pointed firmly. "Get in."

"I'm not going to—"

"Ezio Auditore da Firenze, get in here right now or you will _never_ get any answers from me."

He glared, and his mouth seriously considered retaliating. But he got in, and she threw the hay over him. "Why aren't you sleeping in here, huh?"

"I'm not the one being chased by the guards." She sat beside him and tucked her cloak around her limbs. "No questions yet. Sleep."

"What! You said—"

"_Ezio_."

He pouted his lip and turned his head away. "Fine. Till morning, then I'm getting answers."

"Fine." She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the wall. God, what a brat. She tried being a little sensitive, and he still acted like he was four—worse even! The overbearing infant should be grateful she even—

He snored already. He had not snored last night, so either he was faking or he was more tired than he let on.

She leaned carefully over him, and he appeared far in dreamland. He looked sweeter, softer, and ludicrously handsome. He resembled Altaïr in so many physical ways, but somehow his face held a different appeal. He was a different person entirely, and she was still absurdly attracted to him, more than she had felt for anyone in years. But he was still a boy. A vulnerable boy, and she could not get attached to Altaïr's descendants.

Akilah threw her cloak over him, drowning out the snore, and left the courtyard. Ezio was the least of her concerns.

* * *

The Palazzo de la Signoria was better guarded than she expected. The guards had it completely covered, top to bottom. Giovanni was a dangerous liability for Uberto, so the tower was the ideal holding cell, but damn these walls! It had been a while since she scaled such a flat building as the Signoria, and climbing the very front without attracting attention made progress slow.

She visited Ilario after leaving Ezio, but he really had nothing to tell her that she didn't already know. Uberto had the letter from Rodrigo that held Giovanni's fate, as well as his sons'; Rodrigo was nowhere to be found; Giovanni would face the noose if something was not done. But what could she do? Her hands were tied.

Akilah maneuvered around the side of the tower and peeked into the window. Giovanni sat across the room with a son tucked beneath each arm. They all slept soundly but shivered against the cold dampness. The littlest one clung to his father with his pale face pressed into his stomach.

"Giovanni," she whispered. "Giovanni, wake up!"

Giovanni stirred then spotted her across the room. He squinted at her, and a disbelieving amazement stretched out the lines of his aged face. His curiosity slipped free of the children and crossed to her. He gawked and very carefully touched her countenance. His hand trembled then pressed flat against her cheek, and he let out his inhalation. "Madonna," he breathed. "You're…You're so young."

She smiled. "Only on the outside."

He gasped a laugh then rose up and kissed her forehead. "Mi compagno. How is this possible?" (my comrade)

"I've no time to explain, Giovanni. You sent Ezio to deliver a letter to Uberto, but you've signed your death sentence, my friend."

"What do you mean?" he asked, serious.

"I've reason to believe Uberto is in league with Rodrigo Borgia, who would like little more than getting rid of you and your family so he may overthrow Medici and claim Firenze."

Giovanni shook his head and turned away. "I should've known when Father Maffei came to my house that night."

"He's involved with this too?"

"He works directly under Uberto and had access to the documents from Rodrigo. How could he not be?" Just how many were involved in this little conspiracy?

"What about Medici? Is he in league with them?"

"Absolutely not," he snapped, turning his eyes back on her.

"Are you certain?" she questioned coolly. "You trusted the wrong person once already."

"I swear on my life, Lorenzo is as trustworthy as the right hand of God."

She hesitated. He had been wrong before, and now his family's lives were at risk. As much as she cared for him, she could not chance that he might be mistaken. But she nodded convincingly. "All right."

And he was convinced. "Good. Now you must go, before they discover you."

"You must escape."

"I cannot."

"They'll kill you!"

"This isn't something I can run from, Akilah. I am a respectable member of society now. We cannot just turn renegade and flee like our ancestors. We must face our enemy head-on, even if it be the noose."

"And your sons? You would choose this fate for them?"

"My sons," he said sternly, "have made their choices. They will not live like cowards."

"Stop this martyrdom, Giovanni, or—"

"You've lived a long time, Madonna." It took her off guard, but he spoke like he knew all along. "It's easy to see. But not all of us have that luxury. The rest of us will be defined by our last act, not the ones that come before. I don't expect you to understand."

He was absolutely right. She could no longer understand the ideas of someone with fifty or seventy years to make a life, but she knew something he did not. "No one will remember you. You're just a treasonous banker whose family got what they deserved. That's all."

He smiled. "Perhaps. But Ezio will remember. His legacy will be ours."

"He's a boy."

"When a boy realizes death is his closest friend, he forever becomes a man."

"Damnit, Giovanni!" She slapped the bars, and at some point tears welled up. "Stop all this philosophical nonsense! I won't let you die over something this idiotic! I won't!" The droplets dove over her eyelids and swam the slopes of her cheeks. "I can't. Please don't make me."

He wiped the tears with his thumbs and set his hands around hers. "Take care of my family, Akilah. Only you can save them now." Then he yanked her hands free and shoved her away.

She fell straight down into a haystack then rolled away and vaulted off the side to the next building. She landed hard and tumbled over into the building below. Her shoulder broke her fall, and she landed flat on her face. Hidden in shadow, no one could see her.

So she lay motionlessly on the roof and cried till sun-up.

* * *

The people were in a frenzy almost instantly the next day, like they received the news in their sleep, and an absurd amount were eager to condemn the Auditores. This was no surprise, even if it was Giovanni. How could it be after all the executions she witnessed? People followed the highest power, always; better to idly witness history than die with it. Never mind they would all be history in due time.

The sun neared its peak, and the nooses were already snug around Auditore necks. The child was petrified and paler than ever. Federico looked defiant, but courage only confirmed fear. Giovanni stood calm. He could have been waiting for a meeting with his total composure. He was the oldest and the wisest and, though he knew his fate, still had hope in someone he once trusted. She did it, too; there was no condemning his blind optimism.

God, when had she become so pessimistic? Or was it simply realistic? The difference was harder and harder to distinguish.

But reality was not getting the better of her, not again, not this time. Her perch atop the highest building surrounding the Signoria assured her resolution, with arrows on her back and bow in hand. There were many things she could resolve herself to, most out of her hands, but Giovanni's devout commitment to these laws tying his throat was beyond her patience. She would not abide his wishes and would accept his blame, but, most importantly, she would not willingly leave Ezio fatherless. Not another one.

"Giovanni Auditore, you and your accomplices stand accused of the crime of treason," Uberto announced more to the crowd than his victims.

Smug sack of wine. She readied her shot and aimed for the executioner. A crossbow was too slow, but she could take out targets quickly with a standard bow. The executioner first then Uberto and that other bastard on the platform, just in case the—

Akilah straightened and stared at the black cloak. Could it be? No, impossible. He wouldn't risk being recognized, would he?

Of course he would. He enjoyed watching his enemies squirm. She turned the bow on him but faltered.

"Have you any evidence to counter this charge?"

"Yes!" Giovanni snapped, burning his gaze in Uberto's fat face. His confidence was gone the moment the traitor spoke. "The documents that were delivered to _you_ last night!"

Uberto smirked. "I'm afraid I know _nothing_ of these documents."

"He's lying!" She barely heard the protest amidst the screaming of the crowd, but Ezio worked desperately to move through them.

Damn, damn, damn! She altered targets from Rodrigo to the executioner to Ezio and back again. Shit!

"In the absence of any compelling evidence to the contrary, I am _bound_ to pronounce you _guilty_. You and your collaborators are hereby sentenced to _death_."

She aimed at the executioner but could not fire. She had not promised, but he had asked. Look after his family. Look after Ezio. The boy again.

But she shouldered her bow and leapt from the building.

"_You_ are the traitor, Uberto, and one of _them_!" Giovanni shouted. "You may take our lives this day, but we will have yours in return! I swear! We will—" The lever pulled, and their bodies dropped.

Akilah stopped at the edge of the crowd. Every time, she saw Altaïr's face on their soulless bodies. Altaïr hung on that noose just as much as Giovanni and Federico and… the child. She didn't even know his name. God, had she made the right choice? Did it matter now?

"There!" Uberto shouted. "Grab the boy! He's one of them!"

"_I'LL KILL YOU FOR WHAT YOU'VE DONE_!" Ezio screamed and unsheathed his sword.

"Guards! Arrest him!"

She jolted and barged through the crowd. Ezio stood off, unarmed, against a massive soldier in heavy armor and a halberd—a brute. He raised his weapon high over his huge head.

"Abbattetelo," Uberto whispered in triumph. (Put him down)

Akilah yanked Ezio full force, earrings rattling, and felt the brute's blade cut the air behind her neck. They bolted for the nearest building, and she shoved him up before her then spun on the guards. The brute took another swing, but she circled beneath it and shoved an arrow beneath his helmet into his throat. He gargled his blood, and she followed Ezio before he hit the ground.

Ezio leaned over the side and waved her up. "Hurry, woman!"

"Why're you still here?" A rock smashed into the back of her head, but Ezio grabbed her wrists and pulled her up. "Akilah! Are you all right?"

She saw stars but shook them away. "I'm fine, go!"

He ran a few paces ahead but delayed a moment after each jump, waiting for her. He knew the city well, flew across the roofs like a bird, and led them far from the scene of the crime. They dove into the river and slipped beneath the shadow of a bridge, but no one followed. No one even noticed. When did they ever?

"We're safe for the moment." The water felt good against her head. Maybe it was a life in the desert, but there was nothing she loved more than water.

"Your injury." Ezio touched the back of her head, still tender from its attack. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Akilah stared at him, his one hand holding the ledge and the other touching her swollen skull. For a few moments, he was the boy from the market. But she cupped his face, and reality resettled in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Ezio." She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. "I'm so sorry." He clutched her and pressed his face between her neck and shoulder. He trembled, and she was sure more than river water soaked her shirt.

She understood that feeling. After this moment, he would, indeed, be forever a man.

* * *

The attic was hot, even by summer standards, while small bugs cluttered near the covered windows. Sunset was near, and the heat would dissipate. It would suffice for now. They really had no safer place to go until things settled somewhat. It would be convenient for Uberto to write off the Auditores as soon as possible, but the guards would still be on the lookout indefinitely. Ezio had to go, or Uberto must go. For now, Ezio was the easier candidate, and she did not like being in Ilario's stuffy attic with him.

"How much longer are we going to stay here?" he grumbled from one corner. At some point, they had reverted back to the infantile bickering from the night before. "I need to find my sister and mother before—"

"If you don't know where they are, rest assured, neither does Uberto." She tossed her pack of arrows on the floor and used their points to sharpen wood spears from slabs Ilario provided. She needed the rest of her weapons from Leonardo's. "If he did, they'd have been up there alongside your father and brothers."

"I would've killed him if he—"

"Stop, Ezio." She raised her hand for silence and shook a disapproving head. "Have you _ever_ killed anyone?"

"I can fight," he protested.

"That's not what I asked." He glared, and the answer came loud and clear. "There's nothing honorable about killing someone, even if he is a bastard. It has to be for a higher purpose than revenge or guilt."

"Have you killed people?" he retorted. They exchanged a look, and his voice turned bitter. "You lied to us."

"On the contrary, I never told a single lie." She inspected the small point and set it aside. "I withheld details and let you believe what you wanted to believe. I never lied, and I'm not responsible for your assumptions."

He crossed the attic and yanked her project away. Even in the dark, he was handsome straight through that dark glare. "You promised me answers. I lost my family today, so whether I have to hurt you or beg you, I swear you will never leave this place until you tell me what I want to know. No deceptions."

Akilah crossed her legs and waved him on. "By all means, fire away."

"Does your family really run caravans?"

"My father, not the rest," she corrected. "But my uncle's scholarly tutelage has been most valuable."

"And why're you in Firenze?"

"I'm hunting someone. It benefits me to infiltrate cultures so I might better apprehend him."

"Who?"

She shook her head. "It's better you don't know." He started to protest, but she cut him off. "I'm not deceiving you. It's honestly safer for you and your family if you know less about my affairs."

He grunted. "Fine. But why did you save me?"

"I had a decision to make."

"You chose me." His eyes narrowed. "Over my father and brothers?"

"It wouldn't be the first time you got in my way," she answered frankly. "Your father made a mistake, and now he has answered for it."

"Don't talk about my father that way! You don't know anything!"

"Yet I'm the one answering all the questions." She tilted her head. "I know more about your father than you do, and if you're looking for someone to blame for his death, you need only look in the mirror."

"Fémmina!" He tackled her, but she flipped him on his back and pinned him down. (whore)

"You have to accept these things, Ezio! You wanted answers, and this is the truth!"

"You're a liar! My father was not a traitor, and you don't know anything about my family! You should have let me die if you could have saved them! Anyone with a real family would have known that!"

She let him throw her and stared calmly as he panted over her, the freshly made spear high in his hand. Death might be blissful after all these years, but he didn't have it in him. Not yet. "Only murderers would hang an enemy's children. Your father's loyalty was proven by his choice not to escape the Signoria. That, Ezio, is why I saved you." He blinked. "Your father asked me to."

Ezio shook his head. "No. My father wouldn't trust some stranger like you, a foreigner, and one with even less values than that bastardo Uberto."

She kicked him back and scrambled to her heels, arming herself with an arrow. Ezio flipped onto his boots and raised the spear. She glared. "Normally I'd let naïve criticism pass unprovoked, but I won't tolerate a _boy_ questioning the actions of a man like Giovanni. One more word and I'll cut that tongue right from your pretty mouth. See how popular you are with ladies then."

The attic door suddenly flew open, and Ilario's head popped in. "If you two want to stay hidden, keep quiet up here! Sounds like the roof's about to cave!" He snarled blindly into the small space then slammed the door.

Akilah curled her lip irritably then plopped back in her place and carved on another block. "You have a knack for bringing out the pettiness in people."

"And you have a knack for deception." He settled back into his corner and pulled his cape around himself. "Whoever you are, I don't trust you, and tomorrow we go our separate ways. Got it?"

She rolled her eyes. Maybe manhood was further from his grasp than expected.

"Hey," he barked.

"Yeah, yeah," she growled.

He rolled back over and glared dryly at her. "Not that. How did you know about me and Cristina?"

It took a moment to figure out who he meant, or what the hell it had to do with anything they had been talking about. "People talk."

"You weren't there that night?"

Uh. "Why would I be there?" she asked like he was offensive.

"It's just, your earrings." His eyes noticeably studied them. "They sing, and I thought I heard the same sound then."

Clever boy—for once. "You probably just dreamed it, now go to sleep before you test me again." He snarled but flipped back over. He was not as dumb as he seemed.

Or maybe he was just used to getting in trouble.

* * *

He left before sunrise and did his best to slip out, but she heard him. She pretended not to, and he escaped through a window. There was no where she needed to be, and she felt exhausted from silent crying and busy nights. It was strange to think dear Giovanni was no longer accessible, and the thought kept her in bed till noon, when Ilario came up with lunch. She ate then borrowed a cloak and left for Leonardo's.

Her previous ship was still in port, and the captain would grant her passage despite rumors. One does not spend six months fighting together without instituting some level of trust. She would send word first then wait a few days before departure. There was nothing to do except wait. Even after years of service, waiting never got easier. Waiting to die; waiting to live; just constant waiting, not for things to end, but begin. Her life ended so long ago, and she had waited centuries for it to start again.

"Akilah!" Leonardo jumped up from his seat and rushed over to her. He checked that no one noticed her entrance then slammed and bolted the door. "There're guards everywhere!" He followed her across the room and leaned on the table. "They're looking for a foreign woman in dark clothes. Surely you'd think me an imbecile for not pointing fingers?"

"It's inconsequential at this point," she replied and collected her belongings from the corner. "I'm setting sail soon, which means I no longer require your services, and you never saw me."

"Leaving already?" he pouted. "But you just go here, and I thought for sure you'd want to see Lorenzo de Medici."

She stopped and turned. "Lorenzo?"

"Sì. He returned early this afternoon."

Conveniently returned just in the nick of too late. She would like to investigate him, but the situation was against her. Her freedom was lost as long as Uberto, and whoever else Borgia controlled, remained in the city.

"He knows about Giovanni's murder," he added solemnly.

She quirked an eyebrow. "How do you know he was murdered?"

"I'm good friends with Madonna Auditore, and though I only met Giovanni a few times, I know he was a good man." Weak logic, but commendable. Perhaps he was a romantic after all. "I also know that Giovanni and Lorenzo were close friends, and Messer Medici will be most suspicious at Giovanni's death."

"What are you implying, Leonardo?"

"He has no evidential reason to suspect Uberto," Leonardo replied simply. "Maybe he could use some."

"Such as?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes provocation is the best evidence. The seed need only be planted to take root."

"A bright idea, but how do you expect me to get close to him? I'm quite popular, as you pointed out."

He smiled innocently. "The Santa Croce cloister. Verrocchio is revealing his latest works to the public tonight."

And Uberto would be there. She could slip in amongst the ignorant attendees. "A seed, huh?"

* * *

Akilah fell in easily with the courtesans. A little paint, some cleavage, and fancifully unkempt hair went a long way with the guards, but most men were weak-minded to begin with. She liked this role because her fellow flirts were expert deceivers. They had complete control over themselves and those they flattered; she was more like them than the ladies of the modern world. Most importantly, they did not ask questions and distracted the guards so she could move inside.

There were many elitists gathered in the courtyard, but none that struck her as royalty. She had never seen Medici, yet these guests could hardly be mistaken for a man named "the Magnificent." It was nice to be in the open instead of slinking through the shadows again. She even flirted with some of the more handsome patrons, and for the briefest moment she missed Sforza. Poor bastard.

"A nice distraction from that nasty business with the Auditore family."

She turned, maybe a little too eagerly, but an appreciative gentleman allowed her to recover with fluttering eyelashes. On the other side of the cloister—no more than ten feet from her—Uberto stood amidst a couple. He did not look so smug anymore with his enemies still loose, but a certain superiority still lingered.

"And to think I once thought of Giovanni as a brother," he replied, shaking his head grimly. She should run him through right now.

"Don't blame yourself," the married man replied. "How could you have known what evils he planned?"

"I say we strike that traitor's name from the record books," his wife interjected. "Let history forget he ever even existed."

Akilah forced her feet into the grass. They were not her priority, and this time, there was no one to distract her. She needed to find Lorenzo and let him deal with Uberto.

"You!"

Her head snapped back as Ezio emerged from the crowd and rammed his hidden blade into Uberto's chest over and over, penetrating the flesh and bone five times before dropping him to the ground. Everyone gawked and stared, but she stepped closer.

"You would have done the same," Uberto rasped. "To save the ones you love."

"Yes," Ezio shot back. "I would. And I have." His victim was dead, and he lunged up then turned on the people. "The Auditore are not dead! _I'm_ still here! _ME_! Ezio! Ezio Auditore!"

Then a woman screamed. "Assassino!" And the crowd broke into chaos, scattering and yelling like wild animals.

"Kill the assassin!"

Akilah hissed, pulled a knife from under her dress, and flung it across the courtyard into the back of a soldier's neck. He jolted and crumbled, and Ezio caught her eye. They bolted for the entrance, pummeled through the gather of citizens, and fled into the street. "This way!" He grabbed her hand and pulled away around the corner into a cluster of small homes. They weaved through the catacombs then climbed to the roof and jumped to a neighboring building, flying up the structure like birds. Across the city and into the sunset, they evaporated out of sight.

"Jump!" He leapt off the side, and she followed into a heap of hay. Her body rolled off and tackled into him, dropping them both in a tangle.

Akilah lifted on her arms and looked urgently down at him. "Are you all right?"

He grunted painfully then grinned at her. "Everything seems fine from here."

She looked down at her swelled breasts, glared at him, then laughed. "Fottiti." He laughed too, and she helped him up. It was nice to laugh, and his smile made her blush just a little. Good to know she was still human beneath that acquired cynicism. "We should leave the city. You've officially become an enemy of the powers that be, along with Uberto's allies."

"I must get my mother and sister."

"Wow," she smiled, genuinely surprised. "No questions?"

He chuckled with a shrug. "We're outlaws together, and you wouldn't tolerate being tested again."

"True." He was back to his old humor, but the blood on his sleeve kept things in perspective. "We'll need to get this taken care of. Take it off."

"Are you going to take advantage of me?" he teased.

"Not now, Ezio." But her smile remained. "The sooner we escape, the safer your family will be."

"In that case." He stripped of his tunic and pulled his shirt over his head. "Take them quickly, Madonna."

She accepted them and folded the blood stains inside. "I won't be long." She turned on the entryway.

"Akilah." She looked back, and he stepped closer, breathing against her face. "Be careful." The briefest moment of pain struck his eyes, and he looked down.

She smiled, cupped his cheek, and kissed the other. "Wait for me."

He nodded, staring into her eyes, and she thought he might kiss her for how close they were. "I'll wait as long as it takes."

The insinuations were unmistakable, but she did not pull away. In fact, she leaned closer and stroked his chin. "But don't wait forever." Then she pulled back and hurried into the street.

She should not have done that but would do it again if the opportunity presented itself. He was well-built for a boy and extremely handsome by any standards. If he had kissed her, she would have taken advantage of the suffering child. Yet he wasn't a child anymore; he was a man. An immaturely charming, devilishly attractive man.

Damn.

* * *

Akilah changed back into her weapons and pants instead of returning to Ezio after dropping off his clothes at the tailor's. The sun had just hit the horizon, scouring the city in burnt hues, and she slipped through the growing shadows into the home of Firenze's magnificent ruler. The guards were heavy on the ground but light on the roof, and she descended the interior slowly.

Lorenzo sat at his desk alone, and she tapped lightly on the window. He gave a start, jumped up, and reached for his sword. She raised her hand, and he hesitated. Good men were too trusting, luckily for her. She waved him over, but, though he obeyed, his weapon stayed in hand. He opened the window then backed up and raised his sword. "What do you want?"

She climbed inside and moved out of the guards' line of sight. "I've come to give your seeds water, Su Altezza." (your Highness)

"The garden is downstairs."

"Another occasion, you might show it to me, but I have little time. I'm sure you already expected Alberti Uberto's true loyalties, and now he's met the traitor's end he earned. But be mindful, Lorenzo: a viper like Uberto has powerful allies, and you are their primary target now that Giovanni Auditore is out of the way."

"Can't you tell me something I don't know?"

"Of course. That letter for Borgia _was_ deciphered, and anyone with ties to the Barbarigos is no friend. Don't keep your enemies too close, Principe of Firenze." (prince)

"I'm not—"

"The people love you," she interrupted. "Giovanni trusted you. That makes you the city's ruler, Lorenzo de Medici." She hopped back outside, and no one called for guards. He must have taken her late warning seriously, but not too late. Nothing was ever too late; some were just not meant to be.

Akilah collected the clean tunic and new shirt from the tailor's then returned to Ezio. He sat in the corner with his legs outstretched and his arms crossed over his lean torso, asleep.

She kneeled down beside him and touched his arm. "Ezio, I have your clothes, so we must go." He didn't move, and she leaned closer. "Ezio—"

"I'm not asleep." He opened one eye cutely then smiled. But his smile was different. It wasn't honest. "I waited for you."

"And I'm glad you did." She stood and helped him up. "Your clothes have been cleaned."

He inspected the soft white. "How did you explain the blood?"

"I was a prostitute," she said simply. "Who could begrudge me self-defense?"

"Indeed."

"Get dressed. The sun's running away, and we must hurry."

"Wait." He grabbed her elbow and pulled her around, where she crashed into the front of him. She looked up, stunned, and he watched her in equal surprise. Then his eyes darkened, and he slammed his lips down against hers. He dropped the garments in hand, pulled her waist hard against him, and drove his hand into her dark hair. She could still resist, still push him away, until his tongue plunged between her lips, and her head swooned with the sensation. Lord, it was no wonder the women fell over every opportunity for this feeling!

Akilah kissed back, flicking her tongue over his, and clutched at the hem of his pants. She could not think of him as a boy or a descendant at that moment; his kiss completely wiped her mind of all thoughts except how better to experience his passion. He backed her against the wall, scooped one of her breasts in his hand, and pulled back. Their eyes met, and a long silence followed. Slowly, reality trickled back into their world.

He cleared his throat and stepped back several steps, dropping his hands and averting his gaze. "I'm-I'm sorry. I just…I needed…"

He needed something to make him forget. She knew that feeling, but it was a bit of a sting nonetheless. These things happened, but she really should have been more careful. Lovers were not few and far between for her, yet she had always sworn never to get involved with a descendant. Now she had. Luckily, Ezio provided the opportunity she needed to amend the situation.

Akilah picked up the lost clothes, brushed them off, and extended them. He hesitated to acknowledge her but finally looked up. She smiled. "Hurry. We're wasting time." He took them uncertainly, and she headed for the entranceway.

"Akilah." He looked away under her gaze. Apparently a little embarrassment went a long way and left her hopeful he might then become a man quickly. "I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just…used to dealing with things in that way. I don't know any other way to…distract myself."

She smiled again, this time slyly. "I'm used to distracting men from their lives, little Ezio." His eyes snapped to her, and she smirked. "I have many roles for infiltration, and you would not be my first customer." The bait served its purpose. He looked bothered by this news but, unlike before, did not verbally play her game. "Now, where are your sister and mother? We need to—"

"Oh no no no." He pulled on the linen shirt and tucked it into his pants. "_I'm_ leading the route this time, Madonna, and _you_ can follow."

"It's not good for us to be seen together," she corrected. "We'll meet up, but I need to know where."

He studied her. If he did not trust her by now, he may never. She wouldn't in his situation, but he sighed and slipped his tunic on. "They're at Paola's, a bordello on the northeast side of the city. There're many guards."

"I'll be careful. Wait a few minutes before coming out." She left without looking back. He gave her the opening to cover her own ass, and she intended to use it well.

She didn't know much about this Paola but heard rumors. That was the problem with leaving for so long: all gossip and no facts. Uberto monopolized any chance she may have had of revisiting the city's people, or enjoying her time ashore for that matter. She would be sure to give him a piece of her mind in the afterlife, when she finally did meet it.

Ezio came out as instructed and quietly made his way along the streets. Why did he not ever learn? He checked over his shoulder and crept past guards well enough, but he never once looked up. He if had, he would have seen her following his every step. He did not want her with his family before him, and she did not want him getting into more trouble than he already set himself up for. It truly was rotten luck that his vengeance interfered with her plans, but she couldn't begrudge him. She would have done the same, if he had not beaten her to it. People were not so different, save intention.

He entered a white building decorated in fine flowers and elegant curtains, accenting it as the classy place of business that it was. She made her way down but stopped outside the door. Carelessness was causing her problems lately; could she afford to make a wrong move here? Too many people had died already.

Akilah grasped for the necklace around her throat but touched flesh. She jolted and felt her chest and neck with both hands. It was gone. No! She scanned the nearest perimeter, but it must have fallen before. She wanted to go after it. That necklace was her most precious possession, how could she leave it?

But she must. She had promised.

The door opened, and Ezio came out. He looked surprised, and she smiled. "That was quick."

"What kept you?" he teased then checked the people passing. "Paola says it's not safe to leave just yet. We must cover our tracks a little if we want to escape discretely."

"Such as?"

"She recommends tearing down the wanted posters, bribing the heralds, things like that. Some men bear false witness against me. They should be dealt with."

"I'll handle them. You take care of the posters and heralds. We'll meet back here at nightfall." He nodded, and they went their separate ways.

* * *

She beat him back. The traitors were easy to track down and even easier to kill. Their paranoia made them simple prey. Suspicion made someone more meticulous, but clumsy and inefficient. They doubted their own certainties and were inaccurately certain of the larger picture. She searched for her necklace, too, as she prowled the city for these men. It was gone, wherever it was. The necklace itself had no material value, but she had worn it for over two centuries. Parting with it was sorrowful.

Akilah checked the blossoming stars overhead and sighed. Where was he? Surely even a fool like him could handle a little bribery. If she had to go save him again, she would leave right then and there and forget she ever knew the Auditores because if he could not even—

"Were you waiting long?"

She snapped her head around and felt a swell of relief lift her chest and smile. "I was beginning to think you'd entered a death match with some terrifying piece of parchment."

"They never stood a chance," he winked then rapped on the door and pushed it open.

She stood beside the entryway as Paola greeted Ezio. In or out. In. Or out. She spent so many years fighting to stay out, going in terrified her. But, what was she keeping herself from? Why must she huddle in the corner of the world when she could never escape its rotation anyway?

Paolo clapped her hands, and Akilah took a deep breath then stepped inside.

Claudia threw herself in her brother's arms and hugged him close. "Ezio! Where have you been?" She pulled back and stepped aside for her mother. "They wouldn't let us leave. And mother, uch! She hasn't spoken a single word since we left the house."

Ezio embraced his mother, who hugged him without a speck of emotion. Things were worse than Akilah expected. She knew that look on Maria's face and that only time could cure her now. It was an internal hell no one would ever see.

"Father will need to sort things out," Claudia continued. "Where is father? And Federico?" She noticed Akilah standing silently at the doorway, and her pace slowed. "And Petruccio?" She looked back at Ezio and lifted her eyebrows. "Hm?"

Ezio searched for an answer, but the sadness returned to his dark eyes. "Something's …happened."

Her eyebrows stitched. "What do you mean?" He didn't answer, and fear struck her beautifully young face. "No," she choked and shook her head. "It's impossible!"

"Claudia—" He reached for her, but she spun away.

"No, no, no, no, no."

"I did everything I could, piccina." He turned her back into his arms, and she sobbed into his chest. (little one)

Akilah said a silent prayer for the child then glanced at Paola. They watched each other unreadably, but she knew the stare. This woman was deadly, and not just because her job necessitated it. She had an agenda. Hopefully, it was for their benefit, because Akilah did not think she could handle yet another treachery so soon.

"Listen," Ezio said to his sister. "Right now, what matters is getting us all some place safe. But to do that, I need you to stay focused. Do you understand?" Claudia's sobs cleared up, and Akilah moved her stare to Maria. The mother just watched her children with an eerie calm. "Good. Will you watch over mother for me?" Claudia collected her mother and moved toward the door.

Ezio turned now and faced Paola. "Then we are ready. Thank you again, for everything."

Paola placed her hand on his chest and kissed his cheek. "Stay safe, Ezio," she whispered. "Stay vigilant. I suspect the road ahead is yet long." She glanced at Akilah once more then turned and headed up the stairs.

Akilah watched her until Ezio took her arm and motioned her outside. "Let's go."

Their tracks covered, and the peasants paid off at the gate, the escape was complete.

* * *

They did not make it far from Firenze before setting up camp. Akilah stared into the orange flames of their small fire as insects sang and night birds fluttered overhead. The stars were hidden beyond the trees covering their hobble of safety; their distance made her fidget.

Ezio sat down perpendicular to her and rubbed his hands together. "They finally went to sleep. I thought Claudia would be up all night." She smiled habitually, and he hesitated. "Thank you. For what you've done."

She waved off the thanks. "A promise is a promise."

He nodded then reached into his pocket. "I almost forgot. I think this belongs to you."

She straightened at the necklace, and her eyes questioned him. He gestured toward her, and she gladly took it. "Thank you." She pulled the chain around her throat and fastened the link against the metallic thread, glad to have the single clear stone dive between her breasts once more. "Where did you find it?"

"On the ground," he replied simply. "It must've come off when we—" He stopped, and they stared awkwardly at one another then looked away. "It doesn't look like much, but I guess it has personal value for you?"

"Sì." She clutched it instinctively. "It's been in my family for over two hundred years. It was crafted back during the Crusades."

"Strange choice for a family heirloom." He poked at the fire with a stick then rested his elbows on his knees. "I appreciate what you've done for me and my family, yet I'm curious as to how it ties into your purpose in Firenze. You said you were hunting a man, but what does he have to do with my father and brothers?"

Akilah relinquished the stone and sat her wrists on her knees. Years in the Orient taught her to sit tall and easy with legs crossed and arms loose. "He's the one who ordered the execution of your family."

Ezio jolted at the news and stared at her. His eyebrows stitched in anger, but a certain panic lingered in those chocolate eyes she was beginning to feel she might enjoy losing herself in. "Then we have a common enemy."

She tilted her head. "Are you planning to hunt him as well?"

He considered the option then shook his head. "No. My mother and sister are all I have left. I must get them as far away from here as I can. I have to keep them safe." He looked at her and must have read something behind her passive eyes. "You think I should fight?"

He should, but she didn't want him to. Neither he nor his family would be safe, but she did not want him involved in this world; not after what happened to Giovanni—the fate of so many in his bloodline. "I think you should do whatever you can."

He smirked. "My father used to give me non-committal answers like that, too, but I always knew what he meant. Took me a while to discover his secret, being the clever man he was—" He stopped again, suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'm not going to question your decisions, Ezio."

"For once," he teased, and they grinned at one another.

She hated to admit it because it seemed so very wrong, but the assassination of Uberto brought them suddenly closer. The annihilation of a common adversary automatically made them allies to some degree, and by helping his family escape the city, their allegiance was sealed. She liked being seen and having someone to tutor again, like old times.

Well, sort of. She had never considered inappropriate behavior with her past students and felt ridiculous for doing so now. He was still a boy, after all, by any normal standards; barely a boy, but still so very young. Not that it mattered in the slightest. She had learned long ago that her passions could not be rationalized, and there was no point whatsoever in trying to ignore them. As long as she did not act on them, no harm was being done.

"Get some rest," she commissioned. "I'll take the first watch."

"I'd much rather stay up with you." His eyes played with her, and she resisted the urge to smile.

"We'll head out early and make Monteriggioni by nightfall."

He raised his hands in surrender and stood. "As you command, Madonna. Keep both eyes open, huh?"

She waved him off then checked over her shoulder and watched him settle in beside his sister. A shame they did not know what was in store for them. Then again, maybe they were luckier for it.

* * *

At sunset the next day, Ezio and his family walked cautiously through the trenched path between the hills of Toscana. Akilah followed overhead, hidden behind the green bulges of terrain. They covered the land quickly, and the sky just started turning dark gray when Monteriggioni came into view on the horizon. It surprised her no one pursued them yet. Even if they slipped out discretely, she was not stupid enough to believe they escaped unnoticed. What were they waiting for?

"Buon giorno, Ezio!" (Good morning)

Akilah snapped her eyes over then ducked low against the skin of the hill. Vieri de Pazzi, so they had not escaped just yet. But why Vieri? Could the sniveling fool have followed in his father's footsteps? More importantly, did that make the Pazzis Templar lackeys? Hmph, like it would be a surprise.

"How could you leave Firenze without saying a proper goodbye?" he toyed smugly.

"Ezio!" Claudia yelled, and guards surrounded the trio.

Ezio waved them closer but focused on the leader. "What do you want, Vieri?"

"So many things," he continued whimsically and counted on his fingers. "A larger palazzo, two new steeds," his eyes turned depraved, "a prettier bride." He grinned and pulled his sword out. "Oh and yes." The blade pointed at them. "Your life."

Two guards charged at Ezio, and he squared off with one of them as the other swung at the women. Akilah started to rise but sunk lower. Ezio disarmed his opponent and knocked him out with a solid blunt to the temple then ran for the second. His knuckles sank deep into the man's eye, and he planted a foot against his skull as the guard collapsed and the women rallied closer to their protector.

"My condolences for the loss of your father and brothers," Vieri smirked. "What will happen now that there's no one left to help you? I have such wonderful things in store for your mother and sister." He waved more guards forward. "I grow tired of this game. Finish him! And do not spare the women." The guards took predictable steps then recoiled and fell dead to the ground, arrows plunged in their bodies. Vieri jolted away from the blood and searched the hills. "What sorcery is this?"

From somewhere, a man laughed heartily. "Not sorcery, boy! Skill!"

Vieri raised his sword instinctively, but his skittish steps were crippling. "Show yourself!"

"As you wish." Another arrow shot Vieri's sword from his grasp, and a hoard of men descended the hill into the path. A huge man with swept back black hair and dressed in leather browns tossed a sword to Ezio. "Here, use this." He was obviously the leader of this little band of vigilantes.

"Kill them!" Vieri screamed desperately. "Kill them all!" The large man spun on him and charged forward, but Vieri turned and ran away as the remaining guards attacked.

Akilah watched the scuffle until a man grabbed Maria by the wrist and swung at her head. Claudia pushed him away, and Akilah vaulted over the hill. She flew down the side, unsheathed her scimitar, and gutted the man as he struck for them again. He grunted at the impact then crumbled like a slab of meat. Her eyes checked the women one second and blocked a new opponent the next. He swung overhead, and she blocked again then freed her rapier and cut his stomach wide open. The entrails vomited onto the ground, but she spun away and kicked another soldier in the crotch, head-butted him back, and impaled him with the scimitar. The next guard went for the women, and she threw her scimitar like a spear, planting thickly through his leather armor and into his lower back. Even from there, she heard the spine snap.

She turned back to the central fray, and a glitter on the hill caught her eye. A lone archer kneeled at the top and readied his bow. She bolted into the conflict and shoved Ezio into his opponent, knocking them both to the ground as the arrow stabbed through her right shoulder. Her body spun round at the momentum, and she hit the ground hard. A vigilante archer took out the bastard, and she gasped against the pain.

No one noticed her downfall, or they were too busy fighting their own battle for condolences. She managed to sit up and reached back at the intruder. Holy hell, the pain was excruciating. She pulled the head through until it hung out her back then raised her rapier. A calming breath, and the rapier quickly cut through the wood. She clenched her teeth and screamed into her lips then yanked out the remaining shaft. The pain hunched her forward, and her hand relinquished the weapon. Sweat broke out on her forehead, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Death was _nothing_ compared to this; she welcomed it more than usual at that moment.

A shadow loomed across the ground, and she snapped her head on the soldier attacking from behind. She rolled around him, reached between his legs and grabbed the rapier, and swung straight up. The blade cut right along his testacles and up his back. She collapsed onto her knees again and looked over her shoulder at him. A chill ran up her spin, and she crossed herself. What a way to go.

The battle ended, and Ezio pulled off his hood. He met up with the large leader and extended the sword. "You have my thanks."

The man smiled and motioned his hands down. "Keep the sword, Ezio."

Ezio was confused, and Akilah passed a questioning look at Maria, who kneeled beside her and applied pressure to her wound. "Do I know you from somewhere?"

"Don't you recognize me?" He slapped his hands against his chest. "It's a'me!" His arms flew open. "Mario!"

Ezio blinked. "Uncle Mario?"

Mario hugged him tightly, lifted him into the air, and chuckled as Ezio coughed. "It's been too long, nipote, _far_ too long." He gripped his shoulder affectionately then lowered his eyes. "I heard what happened in Firenze. Terrible." Ezio's eyes saddened noticeably, and Mario motioned him forward. "Come. Let's get you all away from here." (nephew)

"Wait." Claudia dropped beside Akilah as well and clutched her uninjured shoulder. "She's been hurt."

Ezio only just realized her and rushed over, dropped to one knee, and forced his mother's hand away. "Merda," his hissed. "What happened?"

Akilah rolled her eyes and swatted him away. "I got shot, idiota, what does it look like?"

Mario knelt down beside her now, ripped off a piece of his shirt, and tied it fiercely around her injury. She cringed at the brute, and he motioned at her. "My men will carry you."

"No," she and Ezio said at once. They exchanged a look, and she spoke first. "It's not that serious. I'll walk."

"Absolutely not," Ezio retaliated then pulled her against him and scooped her up in his arms. "You're not fit to be the bullheaded femmina right now."

"We must move slowly," Mario conceded, "or the wound will open further."

"I'll be careful."

Akilah relinquished the battle this time, partially grateful for the relief, but mostly glad for an excuse to be in Ezio's arms.

* * *

Monteriggioni had seen better days. The town was nearly barren, and many of the buildings had fallen into disrepair. She had seen it before, back in its prime, but this was disheartening even for time. Mario blamed it on the constant battles and lack of funds, though he hoped the day may come when restoration could be done. She agreed. It was beautiful once, a natural prettiness alongside its more superficial Florentine neighbors. It nearly crushed her when they reached the Villa Auditore. Many of the windows were boarded or shut up, and vines crawled up every crack of the crumbling structure. What color could be seen underneath had long faded to a dull, gross brown, and the rickety porch arches rotted straight through the wood. Even the bushes and few trees outside barely clung to life.

"Here we are, casa dolce casa!" Mario said in satisfaction, set his fists on his waist, smiled. "So? What do you think?" (Home sweet home)

Ezio suppressed a reaction and smiled politely. "It's most impressive, Uncle."

"She's seen better days, I suppose," he shrugged. "Believe me, I'd have her shining again, if _only_ I had the time. But let's get this pesca inside and taken care of, accosentito?" (peach) (agreed)

Luckily, the inside of the house had been much better tended than the outside. The white marble walls did not gloss like they once did, but at least they retained their appropriate color. The floor was badly scuffed and showed the many boot prints that came through, but again, nothing a diligent spit-shine could not amend. They took her to a back room in the west wing of the villa, and Ezio sat her down on the crisp new sheets.

A man threw several linens down behind her, and Mario pulled up a chair. Apparently he was the best choice for doctor around here. He untied the knot and inspected the injury. "It might leave a scar, but you will heal quickly, thanks to your quick thinking. I'll have you fixed up in no time." He turned on Ezio. "Now that you've had the tour, nipote, you should go and outfit yourself. My men in the market are expecting you. Return here when you're finished, and we'll begin."

Ezio's eyes kept Akilah's until these words. "Begin? Begin what?"

Mario's head cocked. "I thought you'd come here to train?"

"No, Uncle," Ezio replied firmly. "I came here to escape Firenze, and I intend to take my family further still."

"But what about your father? He'd want _you_ to finish his work."

"What work?" His voice grew higher, angrier—more confused. "My father was a banker."

"Wait," he interrupted then glanced at Akilah and back again. "He did not tell you?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ma che mi combini, Giovanni?" He looked at Akilah again, and she knew his knowledge breeched further than perhaps even she could estimate. "Where to even begin?" Then was back on Ezio. "Go and fetch the gear in the market. It will give me time to think." (What were you thinking)

"But—"

"But that's that. We'll talk more later." He pulled a pouch from his waist and handed it to Ezio. "Some spending money, should you need it. And if you find yourself in need of rest, I've prepared a room for you on the top floor of the villa."

Ezio didn't look ready to give in but tied the purse around his belt then leaned on the bed. "I'll be back to check on you." Akilah nodded, and he left.

Mario's eyes were back on her, and he reached into a dresser drawer beside him. It was filled with medicines and chemicals, stocked full and at the ready, and he poured some onto one of the towels. She took off her vest and shirt and hunched forward, exposing the injury just above the wraps covering her stomach and chest. He slapped the rag on it but massaged the wound carefully. "I'm grateful for your help back there. You saved my nipote's life."

She cringed as the medicine seeped into her flesh and muscle. "I promised Giovanni I would look after his family."

"You're a friend of Giovanni, then?"

She nodded. "Something like that."

Mario dipped another towel into a bowl of warm water and wiped the blood from her exposed skin. "How long have you known each other?" She saved Ezio's life; what was with the interrogation?

"A while."

"I see." He tossed the bloody rag over his knee and withdrew needle and thread. "I don't have time for games, pesca, so while I stitch you up, we're going to be completely honest with each other, capito?" The needle punctured beneath her flesh, and she hissed then nodded. "When we were children, Giovanni had a connection in Firenze. They aided him in setting up his position at the bank and even taught him a few things about infiltrating the inner workings of society. He never mentioned it further, but I tailed him in a rendezvous. I find it most intriguing, pesca, the likeness between you and your mother."

"You don't say?" She bit her lower lip and did her best to listen yet ignore the swelling pain in her again-bleeding shoulder.

"We Auditore also have a legend, passed down by mouth with each generation. Our ancestors spoke of a spirit that haunts our steps throughout history. They say she has raven-black hair and skin like sand." He tied the stitch and snapped the string. "They say she was born in the chaos of the Crusades, and the Templars fear her more than the assassins."

Akilah straightened slowly and faced him, ready for the front stitches. "Does this story have a purpose, Signore?"

Mario chuckled and started his procedure again. "Only that I don't believe in chance or legends, pesca, but when I see the truth, I recognize it for what it is."

She smiled and opened one wincing eye. "Are you suggesting I'm some spirit from the Crusades that's been keeping a close eye on your family for nearly three hundred years?"

He shrugged. "For a spirit, you bleed quite well."

She shoved her tongue against the back of her grating teeth then took a slow breath and relaxed at the last stitch. "I bleed and get sick just like everyone else, Signore. I'm not immortal."

He wiped down the new blood and bandaged the shoulder. "Either way, I'm grateful for what you've done for my family. You are welcome here as long as you wish."

She reclined against the pillows and felt the sweat on her face dry. "Grazie, Signore. I won't trouble you too much longer, I hope."

"No trouble." He gathered the dirty towels and closed the medicine drawer. "Rest up. I will send someone in shortly with food." He turned to go then stopped. "I nearly forgot, what is your name, pesca?"

"Akilah," she replied habitually. Amazing how natural it felt to not hide.

"Akilah." He mulled the word over in his mouth then grinned at her. "Akilah Sharif?" She blinked in surprise, and he smugly headed for the door. "My brother's not very good with secrets, little spirit, but sleep well."

Akilah considered all possibilities of extinguishing Mario's suspicions then decided she didn't care. As long as she was breaking a few of her own rules, she might as well break them all. Two hundred and seventy years of following rules she set for herself; it was time for a little rebellion of her own.

As soon as the damn hole in her shoulder healed up.

* * *

Akilah spent a lot of time in that bed over the next several weeks, but it was rarely spent alone. Claudia came to visit regularly, and Mario treated her injury every morning and night. Maria came only once; Claudia said she did nothing but pray over the loss of her husband and sons. When she visited, it was night. She sat at the foot of Akilah's bed and gently rubbed her ankle, like a mother watching over her sick child, but never spoke. She stayed a long time, even into the early morning, then left when the house stirred. Akilah wanted to comfort her but felt it was not entirely appropriate. After all, she could have saved them, and she hadn't.

Ezio visited at least once a day, but not for long. Mario had him in the training court all day, honing his mediocre skills into something worthy of protecting his family. He told him many things about his father and their heritage. She watched from her window, and Mario's men liked to call up to her. She enjoyed teasing with them, being a part of a social circle again, but she had not forgotten her concerns.

Borgia escaped Firenze but would keep a close eye out for the Auditores now that the remainder of the family escaped. And Lorenzo was still in danger, greater even than before. Eventually, she must leave and continue her hunt.

But not yet.

She began miniscule tasks after a month cooped up in that drafty room. Her hands were skilled at feminine chores, and many volunteers from the town helped her clean the interior of the villa. Her highest priority was the restoration of the exterior, but like Mario said, money was scarce. She started sword training by the second month, but her muscles felt every rotation. At the close of three months, she felt back to fully-functioning condition and considered ways to fix up the house. She would not be around to help but could draw up plans. It would be nice to leave a legacy of some sort.

Mario's speculations never ceased over her time at the villa, but she let him think what he wished. A man like him could not be dissuaded by mere rejection.

Her attraction never desisted either. With her injury healed, she and Ezio spent more and more time together. They sparred together occasionally, but most of their interaction was personal. He cooked and listened to her stories about her home; she cleaned and listened to his stories about his childhood. He even spoke of Giovanni sometimes, and, the more he did so, the easier it seemed for him. His eyes still clouded, but his voice no longer dwindled and he didn't change the subject. He helped her fold clothes and wash shoes, and she helped him brush the horses and sharpen blades. It was like they had known each other all their lives and only just realized they could speak.

But it was coming to a close. It had been nearly five months, longer than she had spent in any town for years. The time for departure was close at hand.

As the sun set yet again, Akilah slipped out of bed and tiptoed down the hallway. She and Mario were the only sleepers on this end of the villa, and he slept on the other corner of the west wing. Her feet shadowed down the corridor to the main hall and prepared to step out, but she faltered at the sound of sniffling.

Claudia sat at the bottom of the steps and wept into her knees. Ezio kneeled in front of her and held her arms, whispering low words. She shook her head suddenly then wrenched away from him and bolted up the stairs to the room she shared with Maria. Ezio cupped his face in his hand then sighed and ascended the stairs.

Akilah ducked back out of view and noticed a sunken weight on his shoulders as he walked away. She slipped down to the kitchen, sliced herself a slip of bread, lathered it in fresh jelly, and bit in. Claudia didn't want to be here, Ezio had told her already, but it had been five months already. How could she still be making a fuss over something as insignificant as geography? Was it about Maria, or her dead family members?

She cut off a couple more pieces, spread the jelly, and carried them on a plate. She hesitated at the top of the stairs and looked down the hallway toward Ezio's room. Ezio was the man of the house now; their woes were his. It was a heavy load to carry.

Akilah growled against her better judgment and headed up the additional steps to Ezio's room. Her early life made it easy to balance the plate on her head so she could climb the final ladder. His room was fairly cut and dry: a guest chair near the ladder, a few boarded windows, two bookcases, and a sitting space on the far side of the room with a stool and table—there wasn't even a bed. Ezio sat at a huge, pale wood desk stationed in the front of the room against the wall. He hunched in the elegant chair, elbows stationing scattered papers to the desk, and his hands grasped his head.

She cleared her throat and took the plate off her head. He jolted then jumped up, sliding the chair back against the wall. "Akilah. What're you doing here?"

"I thought you might like a late-night snack." She sat the plate on the corner of the desk. "You look tired."

He sighed and flipped a piece of paper on the floor. "I don't know what to think. Everything my uncle says I've found to be true, but so what? My sister hates living this way, and my mother hasn't gotten any better. What am I supposed to do?"

"Do what you think is best," she said simply. "No one ever knows the right choice until they make it, Ezio. You have a huge burden to bear, more than you should, but you cannot live your mother and sister's lives for them. They must make their choices, too."

"My mother is this way because of that bastardo—"

"And you've dealt with him."

"Not him," he growled and balled his hand into a fist. "The man you hunt. Pezzo di merda."

Akilah came around the desk and clutched his fist in both hands. "Ezio. Vengeance is not the way to make things right. Killing people won't make your mother any better."

"But it would quench my anger," he snapped and pulled his hand free. "They must pay for what they've done to my family. Give me his name, and I'll kill him like I killed that ciccione traitor—" (fatty)

"Stop," she snapped and met his furious eyes with her own. "If you want to kill someone, fine, but do it for the right reasons. Your father was not some vigilante eager for the opportunity to prove himself or settle old scores—"

"This is not an old score! They killed my father, my brothers! I can't just let them go and—"

"Think about what you're saying, Ezio." Her voice calmed but was just as firm. "I've been hunting this man for years. It won't be easy getting to him, others must come first. You could spend your entire life tracking him down before you finally get your chance. Would you throw everything away just for that moment?"

His jaw firmed, and he averted his gaze. "I…I don't know."

"You must know before you go spouting ideas about vengeance and justice. That kind of talk will get you killed quick, understand?" His face relaxed, and he nodded. "Eat something then get some rest." She started to leave, but he grabbed her elbow and pulled her in front of him.

His eyes were intense. "Who are you, Akilah? Tell me the truth."

She fidgeted. "I have told you the—"

"The _whole_ truth. How do you know my father? Why did you promise to protect us? Why are you hunting this man? Where is your family?"

"Slow down," she eased. "Where is all this coming from?"

He took a shaky inhalation. "I just—I need to—I have to know I can trust you. I have to know you're on my side."

"I've always been on your side, Ezio." She brushed his bangs back from his handsome face and pressed her forehead against his. "I'll always be on your side, no matter what happens. This promise I make to _you_, giovanotto." They stood with closed eyes and listened to their synced breathing. He smelled wonderful, like fresh air and perfume, and she inhaled the scent of him. (young man)

Then she pecked his lips. They looked at each other, and she considered leaving. Why had she done that? He just smelled so good, and he was so close, so handsome and appealing that she couldn't—

He kissed her. It was short but soft and intentional, and a new stare passed between them.

Akilah slowly lifted her hands and unfastened the buttons of his vest. He stood patiently and let her push it back off his shoulders and down his long arms. Her hands came around his wrists and back to his waist, calmly pulling the shirt from the britches. He brushed his nose over her forehead and kissed gently down the side of her face until she freed the shirt and pulled it over his head. She caressed his naked chest beneath her fingers, pleased with the firm muscles and taunt skin. Then she met his eyes again.

"Undress me."

He paused then kissed her slowly. His lips were warm in their movements across her cheek to her temple. He pulled her shirt carefully over her head then kissed down her neck to the scar on her shoulder. His hot breath made her skin tingle, and she shivered. He stepped back suddenly and stared at her, but his hands kept contact with her waist. She looked down at the wraps around her torso, and he kneeled. He found the tucked end at the bottom and pulled. She spun in a circle as he tugged, unspindling the cotton like thread, and faced him when the last strip vanished. He stood, gradually running his hand up her stomach and over a breast before reaching her cheek.

"I wish I had a bed in here," he grinned.

She smiled and ran her fingers lightly over the desk. "Are you going to let that stop you?"

That familiar mischievousness illuminated his eyes. "I never have before." He kissed her hard, and she inhaled sharply at the stirring sensation. His tongue breached her mouth quick and played over hers, touching each crevice of her orifice. Allah, what a kiss. Where had he learned to kiss like that? Why the hell did she care?

Their love making was hot and slow. She did not just want to sleep with him; she wanted to go insane over him. His mouth touched everything, and she savored each inch of his body until the climax of their embrace rendered them both exhausted. They lay panting and sweating on the desk, the papers and their clothes scattered across the floor.

He kissed her, gently, and propped himself on one elbow. "You tricked me again, mi tesora. You are not the pure woman your country demands." (my sweetheart)

She smiled and hugged his waist. "Are you disappointed?"

"A little," he replied honestly then grinned at her surprise. "I wanted to be the only man to see you."

She smirked. "My previous lovers have met an untimely end, Signore. I hope you're prepared for the consequences."

"Of your seduction?" He chuckled and cupped her cheek. "I can only hope for such a pleasant demise, Madonna." He kissed her sweeter than any before and trailed along to her ear. "You're mine, Akilah. I won't share you with any man." Then he pulled her head back, and she arched into his mouth against her throat.

She had heard that before. But, for once, she wished it could be true. Just this once.

* * *

Akilah sat on the roof shortly before sunrise. The city actually looked sweeter in dull blue than bold yellow. Some people were up and busy already, but most still slumbered in their beds. She had woken instinctively at the song of the morning birds and came out here to weigh her options. Last night should not have happened, no matter how far she intended to flee from her rules. He was a descendant, and any direct involvement besides coincidence put things at risk. What would happen if people remembered her face, or knew her true form? The Templars would not kill her; they would keep her, as some sort of experiment or tool for their own twisted cause. She'd kill herself first. They would never get to her, ever.

But things were different now. She slept with a direct descendant, one of the few remaining in the world. There was no fear of pregnancy. After three hundred years, she never even had a hint of pregnancy. The Apple probably rendered her incapable of procreation, but it was still a mistake on her part. She could not be remembered, not even in that ridiculous legend the Auditores had. She had to be invisible; she could not exist, to anyone.

She must leave, today. Her mind was made up.

"Akilah?" Ezio kneeled beside her and threw a blanket over her naked form. "What're you doing out here? You're going to catch a cold."

Akilah breathed through her mouth and kept her eyes forward. If she smelled him, it would be one more excuse not to leave. "I wanted to see the sunrise, the way nature sees it. Being on the inside looking out, we can't truly touch the light."

He looked out at the horizon, and the sun just winked over the hills. It was beautiful, a cascade of oranges, reds, and yellows that drove away darkness like a dog on a fox's heels. The sun was indeed a hunter, like man, but men's lives were not so simple. They did not simply rise and fall, day in and day out, but survived. All had life, but only a few truly lived, and, as her mother said, living was reserved for those born great.

* * *

Somehow she must slip away without a scene. She needed to disappear as smoothly as she had appeared, but how? Maria and Claudia were easily avoided as long as she stayed on the move throughout the house. Mario would not question her in the first place, but the other men would ask questions. Ezio too. He always asked too many questions.

Akilah returned to her room once Claudia disappeared after Maria. She packed up her sack, pulled on her traditional shirt and vest, and sat her weapons against the wall. When the time came, she would be ready.

Steel on steel crashed outside, and she glanced out the window. Mario and Ezio battled one another in the arena, and men made bets around the circle. She was interested herself and hurried outside for a closer look. Mario was much bigger and stronger than Ezio, but he was slow and not as graceful as he once was. Ezio sidestepped his uncle's attack, grabbed his wrist, and kneed him square in the jaw. Mario fumbled backwards, and Ezio pointed both swords at him.

Mario laughed and raised his hands. "Well done, nipote. You've really come into your own."

Ezio smiled and gripped his uncle's shoulder. "Thank you, Uncle, for all you have given me."

"You're family! Such is my duty and my desire."

"I'm glad you had me stay."

"Good!" Mario beamed. "You've reconsidered leaving!"

Ezio turned and stepped away. "We sail for Spain in three days." What? She never heard a word; when had he made these plans?

"But nipote," Mario countered, forcing Ezio around. "I have given you these skills that you might be better prepared to strike against our enemies."

"And if they find me, I will."

Mario's chest heaved, and he flung his arms around with a glare. "You want to leave, Ezio? To throw away everything your father fought and died for? To deny your heritage? Fine! Come vuoi, arrivederci a buona fortuna." He whipped about and marched up the steps for the villa. (So be it, goodbye and good luck)

"Uncle, wait!" Ezio called then looked at the man beside him. "Why is he so upset?"

"How can he not be?" the mercenary answered, stepping closer. "Vieri's been harassing us ever since you first arrived. To be expected, I suppose. Given his heritage."

Vieri de Pazzi, that irritating piece of shit. Didn't he have anything better to do, for Christ sakes! But even more, Mario had a point, and she climbed into the ring. "Ezio!"

He turned on her and beamed. "Akilah! Did you come to spar with me?"

"What the hell is this news of going to Spain?"

"I've already bartered passage, for all of us. We can start a new life and hope to forget these tragedies of Italia."

"What about your family?"

"My family is coming, I—"

"I'm not talking about them!" she snapped and flung her hand at the villa. "A spoiled girl and a broken mother are the least of my concerns! What about the family that's dead!"

"I'm trying to keep that list from growing!" he yelled back. "I have to protect Claudia and Mother, and this is the only way I know how to do that!"

"Running and hiding like the ignorant fool you are? Hah! You won't even see the ship, idiota; they're going to kill you!"

"What do you want me to do, huh? I can't stay here all my life, Goddamnit, I have to do something!"

"Bastardo!" She pushed him back. "Last night you wanted blood, and today your tail is hidden firmly between your legs!"

"You didn't mind when that tail was firmly between _your_ legs," he shot.

She snatched a sword off the rack and pressed it against his throat. He didn't flinch. "I already told you, boy. You're not my first customer, and certainly not my only." His brows furrowed darkly then he swatted the blade away, knocked it free of her grasp, and turned the point on her. She was surprised by his new skill but didn't let it show. Her eyes kept his. "Your father would be ashamed of you."

Ezio's eyes widened. She hit him where it hurt, straight to the core; it was her seed. Some holes could be dug, but others needed to be punched, and she had effectively done so.

He glared so fiercely she wondered if he might really slit her throat. "Get out," he said lowly. "Don't ever show your face to me or my family again. Comprende?" She didn't respond, and he followed after his uncle.

Akilah let out the breath she held. At last, her prospect presented itself. She could be rid of them and back on her hunt, where she belonged. Back beneath her rules.

She hurried back into her room without anyone noticing then strapped her weapons on, drew up her cloak, and threw her bag over her shoulder.

And with one final look at Monteriggioni, she suppressed herself back into the shell of her youth. "Arrivederci, assassini."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Masyaf, 1485_

Air thick like the fat on the rats crawling by her feet. It stunk so richly she coughed at the inhalation. She couldn't see anything past her blindfold but heard the faint drip-drip in her right ear.

Oh God, not again.

"You'll tell us what we want to know!" Tell them, for God sakes, tell them!

"Go to hell," her own voice hissed. Don't say that.

But she had said it, three years ago in that hell. If only she hadn't. She wished to all gods and sinners and manner of nature she absolutely had not said that.

"Have it your way!" Oh Heavenly Christ, _NO!_

But she couldn't stop them, no matter what she said.

Their knives crawled under her skin, peeled her nails from the flesh beneath, and her teeth roots dripped slowly one by one. Her nose was crooked, her breathing half-hazard and awkward. Her arms and legs easily bent in opposing angles; the blood flowed freely over the saluting bone peeking through the rips in her skin. Her tendons were torn, crippling exact movement in her feet around the ankles, and her eyes bled from the fire and prodding.

Fire and prodding. Peeling, breaking. Screaming—ah!—invaded by blade and man alike as they passed the night filling her and the day pulling her apart again.

Drip-drip. Allah, why did she say it? Drip-drip.

Oh God!

Drip-drip.

* * *

"_NO_!" Akilah sat straight up and grabbed into the dark. It melted between her fingers, and her nails cut into her palms. Her skin crawled and stretched at the pores, trying to fight the ripping from those two years, and she curled into a shaking ball against the pain of the memory. If it could, she would swear her middle would erupt, and all her insides would dive onto the stone floor. Oh Jesus God Almighty.

She turned suddenly and vomited. It didn't help the feeling. If it were simply a nightmare, waking in itself would provide some ease from the torment. But it was so much more than that. Memories held a vastly greater power.

An eagle screeched, and she looked up at the creature perched on the collapsed bookshelf. He watched her adamantly and screeched again.

She got up, crossed the room slowly, and stroked his feathers then scratched his throat. "This place is going to be empty soon, Sargon. You should find a new home." She dropped her hand and watched the sun flutter over the mountain peaks. "Masyaf and I will finally perish together."

The eagle screeched again and rubbed his head down her hand. She smiled and scratched it again. "Perhaps we should say our goodbyes first though, hm?"

* * *

Cities were not as original as they used to be. They were bigger, and more foreigners' pale faces floated amidst the dark natives, who were not as free as they used to be. With the passage of the Crusades, more outsiders took up business and residence at these cheaper, simpler exotic lands of half desert and half jungle. With them they brought law and new societal rules.

She wasn't complaining. She liked seeing people interested in her homeland while peace struggled to survive among the races. It was a pleasant idea, even for someone as jaded as she, but she didn't really think it would last. There was no honest skeptical justification. She just wouldn't let herself believe in man anymore.

Hama was a pleasant enough city in its own right, a comfortable familiarity to Damascus but clearly touched by a bit of European hand. The architecture was tasteful, but she rather preferred the countries' tastes remain separate. That had always been part of their beauty.

"The lone hermit returns!" Akilah glanced sideways into the open restaurant, and a tall, redheaded pale skin opened his huge arms wide and grinned teasingly. His accent was obnoxiously Scottish, though he had much Irish in his veins. His thick beard reached to his broad chest, and even his mail looked strained on his bulk. Still, the sun danced excitedly in his large brown eyes as they focused on her rather than the dozens of people staring him down strangely. "Haven't seen _you_ for some time!"

"I'm a busy hermit," she smiled and joined him at the table. She liked him a great deal for his hearty laugh and honest tone, and somehow his drifter ties were intriguingly cunning. "What goes on in the world, Linus?"

He chuckled and sat down then slapped his knee. "Right to the point! Nothing changes much in this place." He leaned forward on the table and tied his fingers together. She never understood his need to pretend like he was a serious man. "Do you know Giovanni Mocenigo?"

"The Doge of Venice? He took office in '78 after the death of Andrea Vendramin." She quirked an eyebrow. "Speaking of which, didn't his widow marry his brother?"

"Poor bastard was barely in his grave," Linus confirmed with a shake of his head.

"Hopefully she married for love the second time around. But what of Mocenigo?"

"Well," he passed her an unsurprised glance, "seems the great Doge has been poisoned, and his closest official, Carlo Grimaldi, was murdered."

"Grimaldi?" She had heard the name before, but her mind had slipped over the years. There were so many names, so many faces. It was becoming out-of-sight out-of-mind anymore.

"He sat on the Council of Ten. Weasel took a knife in the back."

Akilah layered her arms over each other, tucking them deep inside the sleeves of her cloak. "You have another story, my friend?"

"I might've heard somethin." They stared at one another, and he grinned. "Damn, woman, how can you be so persuasive without a word!"

"It's a gift."

"Somethin you'll have to teach me one day, eh?" He chuckled, took a swig of his drink, and cleared his throat loudly. "Word is that Grimaldi was planning on cutting the Doge out anyway and was the one who actually poisoned his food. Remember the murder of Emilio Barbarigo?"

"At Seta."

"That's right. The thieves overtook him then, and rumors say they handled Grimaldi, too. They say Venice has a ghost that works with the thieves to overthrow the corrupt officials."

"Vigilantes." She liked vigilantes. A ghost, though? Really? It was not even original. "Who is the new Doge?"

"Marco Barbarigo."

She hissed and crossed her arms over her chest. Horrible business what he did to Dante Moro and his wife. What was her name? Eh, a sad shame, whatever her name was. "Barbarigo. Tsk, what an unhealthy lot to control a city."

"Marco's already created a little stir amongst the people but mostly stays locked away in his palace all day. Seems to be afraid of something."

"Can you blame him, when the previous position holder met an untimely end?"

"Bloody coward."

She smiled. "We can't all be bull-headed, my friend."

"Can't all have a healthy pair, you mean."

"Linus—"

"_All I'm saying_ is that if these gits are so interested in controlling Italy, they should learn to stand face-to-face with their enemy."

"And if their enemy doesn't fight face-to-face?"

"Agh!" He waved his hand dismissively. "Bloody pigeons, the lot of them."

She resisted a laugh and shook her head. Pale skins. "Anything else, Scot?"

He grinned and leaned closer across the table. "There's still a chance to marry me."

She rolled her eyes and stood. "Good day, Linus."

"Always a treat, milady!"

She waved as she walked away. It was fine to come to town once in a while, to make sure the Earth indeed still turned, but she never got involved. It was better that way, for everyone. She had no intention of rejoining the world or people, though it passed the time to know the life beyond before she met her end. Hopefully, it would be soon, but not quite yet.

Soon.

* * *

Akilah sighed and leaned to one foot, punching her hip out in that so very European way. Damn. Was it nearly that time already? She shook her head and climbed over the toppled remnants of the Masyaf gate. It had rotted years ago, but the weeds and moss had kept it together for far longer than it was intended. Its end had finally come.

She traced her fingers down the snapped wood still standing like a statue then pressed her forehead against it, warmed by the greenery cushioning the contact. It had been a marker of her time. Everything else in Masyaf was long gone except for the skeletal remains still fighting for cohabitation with nature, though it was a losing battle. Even the fortress where she slept was only a grimy, crumbling shadow of what it once was. Tsk, what a shame. Now, with the gate fallen, Masyaf was truly dead.

It was almost time.

Akilah lifted her head and rubbed the wood then turned her eyes to the road. "You can come out now."

There was a brief silence until a hooded figure stepped out from the landscape and bowed. He was closer than she expected, maybe the length of one of the wooden posts. But he didn't advance. "My apologies, Madonna. I did not mean to spy."

An Italian. He had an elegant speech, no doubt acquired in a life amidst the city. Milano, maybe? Or Firenze?

"It's not spying when there are no secrets being kept." She inspected him a moment longer then turned and walked through the forgotten town. "What can I do for you, Signore?" His feet never made a sound, but she sensed him following from a distance.

"I'm here on business, actually. I come on behalf of Mario Auditore."

She smirked but managed to keep the amusement out of her voice. "Keeping busy, is he?"

"He is indeed. He sent me to look for you some time ago, but you are a difficult woman to track down, Madonna Sharif."

"I'm a very busy person, Messer. I don't have time to wait around for assassins and thieves to catch up." She stopped and turned calmly on him. "Which reminds me. Do you have a name?"

He smiled and bowed extravagantly. "They call me La Volpe."

La Volpe, the infamous Fox of Firenze. She thought he might be a fantasy, but his affiliation with the assassins made it obvious how he remained hidden. His presence could not bring good fortune. "You'll excuse me if I don't invite you in, Volpe, but I would still like to know what it is _I_ can do for _you_?"

He stepped closer, though still a good ten feet from her. "You've been absent from Italia for quite some time, but you vacationed at its most climactic period, Madonna. The assassins and the Templars have struck out openly once again. Things have become unstable and perilous for us all. It hasn't been so tense since the time of the Crusades, I'm told."

"Oh?" No point playing innocent. If Mario sent a thief, and the suspicious messenger knew of the assassins and Templars, she was certain he knew a great deal more. But better not to assume he knew too much.

"After you left Monteriggioni, Vieri de Pazzi was assassinated in San Gimignano. Francesco and his conspirators plotted to kill Lorenzo de Medici, but luckily he escaped. His brother, Guiliano, was not so fortunate, I'm afraid. Francesco was also assassinated shortly thereafter, hung from the Palazzo de la Signoria. He didn't go alone. Stefano de Bagnone, Antonio Maffei, Bernardo di Bandino Baroncelli, Francesco Salviati, and Jacopo de Pazzi met a similar fate.

"Now the fight has left Tuscana and Firenze and moved to Venezia. Emilio Barbarigo was a wealthy merchant, occupying the Palazzo de la Seta as he reaped tyranny through his tight grip on the district."

"A short-lived oppression, I can guess?"

"Sì. He was also assassinated in the palazzo. Now Giovanni Mocenigo, the Doge of Venezia, was poisoned, and Marco Barbarigo has taken his place."

"So I've heard." She didn't react to his impressed smile. "I suppose Carlo Grimaldi's treachery did not go unpunished?"

"Grimaldi was but a pawn in the larger game, Madonna. But yes, he was held accountable for his crimes against Venezia and Italia. As did those who came before him, and so too shall those who come after. All this thanks to the Auditores."

"Mario's quite volatile in his old age."

La Volpe retained a laugh but could not subdue a grin. "He is indeed, Madonna. But it is not Mario to whom I was referring. I meant his nipote, Ezio."

Akilah could not suppress a reaction to that. Her eyebrows loosened the slightest bit, and her mouth parted as her fingers tensed. She had not anticipated that. When she left Monteriggioni, she honestly expected him to flee as far as he could with his mother and sister. He was not a coward but certainly naïve and in no expectation to step into his father's shoes. Now he had successfully killed nine Templars in nine years. Why had he changed his mind?

Better yet, why was she displeased that he had?

"I didn't know the boy had taken up the job." She tried to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "I thought he was fleeing to Spain with the women?"

"Maria and Claudia have been living in Monteriggioni since they first arrived." He shrugged. "Sir Ezio had a change of heart about family heritage, it seems."

She smirked and continued her hike up the hill toward the fortress. "On the contrary, Messer, he may have had a change in means, but his intentions are exactly the same."

"Perhaps, but people change—"

"Not for this." She faced him again, staring him down like a child. "He became an assassin because of the murder of his family. His intentions for following the creed will _never_ change."

La Volpe nodded. "I understand your logic, but time has a great effect on people."

Not everyone. "What do you want? Why did Mario send you?"

His expression changed slightly, more business-like, and he tucked his arms behind his back. He spoke matter-a-factly. "After the murder of Mocenigo and Grimaldi, Ezio has become infamous in Venezia. He has been forced to leave the city for the time being and rejoin his uncle in Monteriggioni, but it won't last. They have plans to re-infiltrate the city and dispatch Marco Barbarigo before he can do anymore damage to the city than he already has."

"Ambitious plans. I wish you luck." She started to turn, but his voice made her keep still.

"Ezio has acquired many accomplices in Venezia, including Leonardo da Vinci. Though there is much prospect in the future, Mario feels it would reassure their plan if someone with your…_familiarity_ were to accompany Ezio. He could use your aid in the reclaiming of Venezia, and such a well-rounded mentor will be a great benefit to his mission."

She had already given him one too many experiences, and no Templar or thief was going to push her back into that world. Not now, not ever. "Then my advice is he will learn best from his own know-how."

"But—"

"You already know my dirty little secret, Messer, so I feel no discomfort with admitting my vast experience with history. Henceforth, let me be frank: every generation is temporary. No matter how much people try to change the world, it ultimately remains the same." She paused, taking in the sad truth, then sharpened her eyes on his. "So tell me why, in the name of Allah, I should give a damn about Ezio, Venezia, or even the Templars. Do you think you'll defeat them one day? You won't. The Templars are an idea, and ideas, young man, are indestructible." He started to speak, but she cut him off. "A storm is coming in, and I need to get this wood put away before that. I have no desire to freeze. Excuse me."

She marched onward, but he suddenly closed the distance between them and grabbed her elbow. She spun sharply, and he glared. "You're right, Akilah, a storm is coming, and it could very well drown all mankind." She yanked at his claws, but he kept hold. "People die, it's part of the cycle of things, but it doesn't mean we should stop trying to make life better, that we should stop fighting for what we believe. It's what keeps us human. You have no reason to fear death, but tell me, Akilah." His voice lowered. "Has the absence of fear killed your own humanity?"

Suddenly, a volley of feathers and talons swooped between them and screeched shrilly in Volpe's face. He released her immediately, and Akilah took several steps away as Sargon shrieked at the intruder again then took off. Volpe watched her tensely, and she felt her lip curl. "I don't carry weapons anymore, so you can be assured I won't stab you through the heart. But you should know, Volpe, that humanity isn't worth saving. God gave up on man a long time ago."

"All the more reason we cannot give up on each other."

She shook her head. Naïve ideals. She was so sick of it! After all the battles, the deception, the hiding; after all this time, she was more wasted away than this Goddamn town!

"I know what happened at Tadmur."

Akilah's nostrils flared as her eyes widened and she stepped back, raising her hands defensively against his words. No. She didn't want to remember.

"I understand how it feels to be broken, Akilah. What happened to you was monstrous, but you survived. You were meant for something more."

Just shut up, damnit, _shut up_!

"Could you truly live with yourself, knowing it could be happening to someone else? Could you stand to live after—"

"_I have no intention of living_!" she shrieked, her voice rough and ragged with emotion. "I came here to repent, pezzo di merda, and then I will rejoin the damnable river that spawned this curse! I want it ended! _I want to die!_"

His voice didn't change; his face remained stern; his posture stood resolute. But his eyes. They wiped at the tears hanging on her eyelashes. "You may have lost your faith, Akilah, but God has not abandoned you. He wouldn't save you from that place unless there was a reason. He wouldn't ask you to live with it for nothing."

"It _was_ for nothing—"

"It wasn't," he snapped. "And more importantly than God, _we_ believe in you. We, the descendants of Altair and his assassins. We who have only made it this far because of _you_." Those damn tears were chilling her cheeks. "We, Akilah Sharif, are asking you not to give up on us."

She spat at him, dead in his lined face, and he closed his eyes silently. "I hate you. All of you. It's Altaïr who allowed this to happen to me, and his descendants who kept it going. I've sacrificed enough for this damn family, and I will bathe in the hatred of death before I sell my soul for his fucking bloodline again." She had never said that word in her life. It was crude and uncivilized like the revolution of the new world. But now that she had, it left her feeling closer to self-expression than ever before, and, with that, she marched away.

Volpe did not follow.

* * *

A light peeled her eyelids slowly open, blinking against the morning glare through the cell bars. Day one-thousand and ninety-six in this hell. Three straight years. Over ninety-four million seconds of endless torture, simply for being cursed. Damn the world. Damn the morning sun and the long days and the warm blood that pumped through men's serpentine veins. Damn everything, damn everyone! She wanted to lash out at something, but her body had given up long ago on reacting to tantrums. It had been so many long hours strapped prostrate to this table, why had her body not shut down yet? Why wouldn't it break free?

Akilah's fingers twitched, and she yearned to scratch an itch on the edge of her nose. She pulled limply on the shackles, hoping the attempt would suffice.

But the shackle clicked open with the pressure, and her wrist was free. She turned her head curiously and flexed her fingers. Slowly, her eyebrows stitched, and the muscles in her hand clasped into a stunned fist. What the—?

"Another early morning, milady!"

Shit! She snapped herself back into the shackle and closed her eyes.

A man entered the room and leaned over her face. "Ready for another day of fun?" His breath smelled like stale ale, but she was so used to it by now that it no longer made her gag. She didn't move, and he chuckled then crossed to the other side of the room where a table of sharp utensils waited utilization. "This marks our three year anniversary, so today we should try something special, ah?"

Akilah glared at his back and quietly unhitched herself from the restraints. They were all unlocked, but how? Who had done it? And when? She had gotten so good at waking up when someone came in the room, how could they have slipped past her?

The Templar lifted a pair of tongs from the table and grinned. "Let's see if those pretty eyes still work when they're not in their sockets, shall we?" He turned toward her, and she vaulted across the room, landing flat on his chest and tackling him through the table to the ground. Her muscles suddenly worked like a feline, as eager to retaliate against these demons as her soul was.

She somersaulted over his head and onto her feet, yanked a curved dagger off the shambled table, and rammed it through his sternum. The break vibrated through the blade and into her hand, but there was no time to dally as more guards barged through the door.

They came, one after the other, and she dispatched them all. The first few were quick; merely an opportunity for her to maintain her ground against her oppressors. But the ones that followed…

She took her time with them. Scraped the skin from their skulls, clipped off each extremity one by one, broke their limbs then cut them open and fed them to the dogs, gouged their eyes out, popped off their nails, sawed off their lips, bled them dry. Each scream, every ounce of pain, all ninety-four million seconds was returned to them in spades. They would suffer, suffer for their crimes and their pleasure in her pain.

And there was still a drip-drip in her ear.

* * *

"_STOP IT!_" Akilah writhed on the floor, clawing into the air and kicking the stone floor as her head flipped insanely from side to side. "_I DON'T WANT TO REMEMBER! STOP IT!_" Her eyes suddenly flung open, and she scrambled to her feet. Down the stairs, through the rubble, over the dead weeds, and onto the moonlit grass of the garden. She panted, her heart bashing against her chest viciously, and looked down into the dark river below. This was it.

"Release me." Then she stepped over the toppled white railing and turned on her heel as her back plummeted into the cold rapids. They swept her up instantly, swallowed her deep into the confines of their embrace, and hurtled her body downstream with brutal care. There was no up or down, no sky or riverbed; there was only the chilling connection between water and death. Soon, they would be whole.

Then her face slammed into soft dirt, and a torrent of air plunged into her nostrils as water vomited from her lungs. She choked on the regurgitation then rose up on her elbows and shivered in the breeze. It was the shore.

No. No, this wasn't right.

Akilah flipped over on her backside and stared desperately at the calming stream. "No." She jumped up and ran toward it. "No! You have to take me!"

There was an eagle screech, and Sargon swept across her face, cutting off her path. He screamed and shrilled at her, flapping his wings wildly against her ears as he pecked at her dispelling fingers and clawed her raised arms.

"Stop it!" She jumped back from the bird, and he perched himself on a rock. Fucking bird! Again, it felt fulfilling to use the word. "Why are you doing this? I'm tired of this world! I'm tired of living on with these horrible memories while everyone else gets the luxury of an end! Don't deny me this chance, Sargon! Let me go!"

He screeched again and flapped his wings. His head nodded toward the rock he stood on.

"What?" She stomped over and swatted at him, but he fluttered back. "What?"

He kept screeching and fluttering and nodding. What the hell did this damn pigeon want?

Then her brow furrowed, and she stepped closer. There was an inscription in the stone. It had smoothed down over the years, but it was still deep enough to make out. It was written in Arabic.

لغة واحدة لا تكفي. أحبك

"Lugha wāhidah lā takfī. Uħibbak." (One language if never enough. I love you.)

She pressed her hand over her mouth and cried. Cried for hours. Cried long into the day. Cried every moment away. Cried until her chest felt light and the river touched her toes.

Altaïr.

_Serenissima Repubblica di Venezia__, 1486_

The Palazzo Ducale. Begun in 1309 in the gothic style, it was largely completed in 1324 by Filippo Calendario. The massive, exquisite side gate near the central courtyard was constructed in 1442, thanks to Giovanni and Bartolomeo Bon. She preferred the gothic style, honestly, and missed its high placement in society after the revolution of more recent architecture. She liked the new styles as well, but their simplicity and almost overly modest disposition left her feeling a bit dejected after the extravagant, elaborate designs of the gothic regime.

It didn't look any different from 1462, which meant it was damn near impossible to get in. "Damn near" only because somehow Ezio had found a way inside without anyone noticing, even if he was too late to save the Doge. She visited it once with Marsilio Ficino when Cosimo de Medici took his physician's son under his patronage by touring him around the beautiful city of Venezia. If it was the same, the guard was impeccable. Even if subtlety had not been a priority, getting in would be difficult. How did that birbante get in there?

Akilah crossed her arms and licked the back of her teeth. "Couldn't have been easy." No way. He would never reach Mocenigo before Grimaldi took the seconds to kill him. He was not some pigeon, for Godsakes. She had tested the powers of gravity on numerous occasions, and under no circumstances could a man fly. A shame, really.

She fingered her fake black beard and stared at the guard strolling past her. Her dark skin could give her away, but the sack of feathers and flour in her gutted shirt, along with the dark wig under a wide-brimmed hat dispelled most suspicions. The beard and mustache covered up to her cheekbones, so her feminine face was near impossible to distinguish without a close look. It was nice not being noticed in a city full of strangers.

She waddled past the guards and evaporated into the crowd as the Palazzo fell behind her and the city divided into bridges and alleys. Venezia was a beautiful city, by all standards of charm, pleasure, and elegance, but for some reason the best cities attracted the worst people. She didn't like most of the townspeople; they were rude and snobbish with high opinions but low morals. It was no wonder there was so much upheaval and unrest. Still, the closeness to water was a comfort.

"Mi scusi." She smiled politely and tried to sound as weathered and masculine as was convincing. "I'm looking for Leonardo da Vinci's workshop. Do you know where it is?" The gentleman pointed her off across the Rialto Bridge, and she stopped directly in front of a semi-elegant building that looked in the process of renovation. Not bad, she supposed. (Excuse me)

She knocked once, rap-rap-rap, and waited.

The door flew open, and Leonardo's middle-aged face grinned as giddily as ever at her. "Buona sera, Messer! What can I do for you?" Same old Leonardo. (Good evening)

"I went to your shop in Firenze, but they told me you had moved to Venezia."

"Oh, sì," he answered with embarrassment. "I guess word has not quite gotten around yet."

"On the contrary, I'd say it has, since everyone knew where to send me. I'm a little removed from the world these days."

"I see." His smile never faltered. "What can I interest you in?"

"I hear you're an inventor?"

"Sì."

"Excellent. May I come in?"

"Certainly." He stepped aside graciously, and she walked in. It was better lit than his cluttered shop in Firenze, and his cascade of papers and machines were scattered across the large area. Most looked like bizarre jumblings of metal and catastrophe, but one particular device outshined all the rest—not just in its superior size, but by hovering from the ceiling. She tried not to gawk at it, but it suddenly became clear how Ezio had infiltrated the Palazzo Ducale.

The door shut behind her, and Leonardo clapped his hands together. "Now, you were saying?"

Akilah drew her eyes from the contraption and pulled a flyer from her pocket. "I've come for this man."

His demeanor dipped a moment but quickly returned, though still a little off-put. "You think he's here?"

"No, of course not." She folded the parchment and stuffed it away as her feet carefully roamed the workshop. "But I suspect you know where he is."

"Uh, mi dispiace, Messer, but I don't know anything about this man." (I'm sorry)

"I know you were close with the Auditores. The Madonna, Maria, was a customer of your paintings, and you even visited the house. You also helped their son, Ezio, escape the guards in Firenze so he could retreat to his uncle's villa with his mother and sister. What's more," she faced him, and the façade of his face was gradually falling, "you helped him to infiltrate the Palazzo Ducale." She glanced at the hanging invention then smirked knowingly at him. "You, Signore da Vinci, aided Ezio Auditore in the murder of Uberto Alberti, Vieri and Francesco de Pazzi, Bernardo di Bandino Baroncelli, Stefano da Bagnone, Francesco Salviati, Antonio Maffei, Jacopo de Pazzi, Emilio Barbarigo, and Carlo Grimaldi."

His feet subconsciously made a step back toward the door. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. The Auditores were all killed almost ten years ago, Messer, and Emilio and Grimaldi were killed by sieges led by the thieves. How can you believe one man could kill so many people without being caught?"

"If I can, why can't he?" She grinned at his recoil and pushed her hat higher onto her forehead. "You're such a terrible liar. No preoccuparvi, I'm not going to arrest him. I was sent by a different party to catch up with Ezio and take care of some unfinished business." (Not to worry)

Leonardo stood awkwardly silent for several seconds, never breaking eye contact with her calm amusement. "What would you do to him, if you found him?"

"I will do what my employer has requested."

"Which is?"

"Private. I can't share the terms of a contract with a third party, you understand."

He puffed up his puny chest and stationed his feet. "Then I'm afraid I can't help you, Messer. If that's all, please leave immediately."

Akilah nodded slowly, genuinely impressed by Leonardo's determination, and walked closer to him. "Sono grato del tuo aiuto, Signore." She stopped only inches from him, and he backed up against the wall without breaking their stare. "I'll just be off then." She bowed, touched the door handle, and then turned back to him. "Oh yes, there is one more thing." His eyebrows furrowed suspiciously, and she smiled. "If you're going to cover for Ezio, perhaps you should know that sometimes provocation is the best evidence. The seed need only be planted to take root, ever-curious Leonardo." (I'm grateful for your help)

He blinked strangely then gawked and grinned at once. "Akilah! Ca campi cent anni!" They both laughed, and he observed her openly. "Well now, you've gotten, er… better-rounded since that time in Firenze." (You'll live a hundred years)

She snorted then poked at the gut. "It's feathers and flour, Leonardo. I still look exactly the same."

"Good to know." He beamed and threw his arms around her, flattering her fluffy stomach against her real one. "I thought you'd left for good this time! Oh, it's so good to see you!" He pulled back and held her at arm's length. "What brings you to Venezia?"

"I heard through the great vine that Venezia is expected to change hands yet again and was asked to keep a close eye on Ezio. Should he need an extra mind."

"Wonderful! I don't think Ezio will need much extra help, but it will be nice to have you around again all the same."

Akilah smiled and motioned at the woodwork hanging from the ceiling. "But what is this contraption, Leonardo? It looks like some sort of bat."

"Oh my goodness." He pulled her across the room and beamed. "This is my invention Ezio used to infiltrate the Palazzo Ducale. It allows a man to fly!" Her eyebrows flew up, and he waved his hands dismissively. "Well not fly, per se, but certainly ride the winds—like a bird! The wings are made with a careful parchment over a skeleton that keeps the machine light but strong. The rider holds onto the bar there, and when he jumps forward off a building, he keeps his body parallel with the ground, elbows locked. The machine glides, letting the wings cut through wind like a knife. To direct it, the rider need only lean in the direction he wants to go. We used fires all cross the city to give it lift, carrying Ezio across Venezia and onto the rooftops of Palazzo Ducale!"

"Impressive," she nodded, and her body itched to try it. If only man could truly fly!

"I will have to have it demonstrated for you someday," he grinned then clapped his hands together. "But you didn't come for my grand ideas. You're looking for Ezio?"

Right, stay focused. "Sì. Do you know where he's gone?"

"He came here for a mask then I sent him to Sister Teodora. His friend Antonio de Magianis is a regular visitor and an ally from his missions against Emilio and Carlo."

She quirked an eyebrow. "Sister?"

He blushed and averted his eyes. "There is a large parish under Sister Teodora. I've seen Antonio there from time to time."

Ahuh. "Where can I find this Sister?"

"In the Dorsoduro district, to the South."

"The Dorsoduro district?"

"Sì."

She tried not to laugh at the hole Leonardo subconsciously threw himself in. "Isn't the Dorsoduro district the center of Carnevale, being the district of thieves and nightlife?" He cleared his throat nervously, and a chuckle escaped hers. "Grazie." She plucked at her disfigured belly and poofed it back to recognizable fatness. To Dorsoduro then.

"Akilah." He touched her shoulder, and she turned curiously on him. "Carnevale starts tonight. We should have dinner, in celebration."

She smiled and nodded. "I'll see you tonight." He beamed back, and she exited the workshop.

* * *

Leonardo was exactly the same. He had not changed in the slightest, except maybe his more distinguished backbone and thicker beard. But he still got happy over sawdust, came up with the most absurd merda, and lied like a little girl. It made her wish she had come back sooner.

How would Ezio be? Confronting Leonardo could not have been easier. Who in their right mind would be afraid to show their face to someone like him? And she was not exactly afraid to see Ezio. She was nervous. He told her to never show her face again—granted, she had forced it out of him. All the same, she had been out of the hunting business for nearly a decade and, though such skills came back quickly, doubted they would be of much use. She had retired from that trade, anyway. Her hands were still capable of taking human life and would not hesitate to do so, but she preferred not seeking out violence the way she once had.

Ezio would not be that way. He had killed nine Templars and who knew how many other guards and messengers. At this point, he had given himself a mission and would hunt anyone who might be the next clue in this mess of Templars and assassins. Where would it all end?

Akilah recoiled as a flash of fire roared across her path. The fire-breather grinned and bowed apologetically as she tipped her hat. She had only been to two Carnevales di Venezia, the first being in 1296, when the Senate declared Carnevale as a holiday. San Marco Square never saw such freedom and excitement otherwise; the fun and games prospered. The second was in 1462, when she visited the city with Ficino and Cosimo. The event had changed over the years, but it was still the grandest event of the year in Italia, if for no other reason than its wild parties. She had always favored Carnevale festivities over any other celebrations across the ages.

"Don't come any closer, or I will carve up another one!"

She halted instantly and glanced awkwardly from left to right. Was someone talking to her?

"Stay back, or I will kill them! I swear it!"

Now she spotted the man barely around the corner. He had a prostitute's wrist clasped in his firm grip and wielded a knife in the other. Funny, he did not look like a murderer. What was his angle?

"It wasn't my fault! She laughed at me! She made me do it!"

Standing across from him, a good fifteen feet away, Ezio watched him carefully beneath his white hood. His face was covered with a Carnevale mask, but he was entirely concentrated on the man gone mad before him. Somehow, these two were associated, and not in a good way.

She didn't like the way this scavenger threatened anyone, like he actually had some sort of power. "Ehi, miserabili pezzi di merda!" (Hey, miserable piece of shit!)

The man spun on her, eyes panicked with her slow advance, and pressed the knife into the prostitute's throat. "Stay back! Don't think I won't do it! I'll cut them all up right here!"

"Chiudi il becco, cane rognoso! Che vista penosa, tagliagole. Creapa, stronzo!" (Shut up, mangy cur! What a painful sight, cut-throat. Die, asshole)

"Ma che cazzo? Figlio d'un cane!" He gripped his knife tighter and flipped his wrist, ready for an ending slice to her antagonizing. (What the fuck was that? Son of a bitch!)

There was a thunder clap in the air that startled her eyelids into reaction, but the echoing crash slithered away as smoothly as it ambushed the night. The man crooked his head strangely then coughed and collapsed on the ground, fresh blood oozing from the small hole in his chest. Good Lord, he was dead. What sort of sorcery—

"Are you all right, tesoro mio?" Ezio helped up the fallen prostitute and smiled charmingly. "You're not harmed?" (my darling)

"No, Messer," she grinned and slipped her hand free then over his shoulder and away into the night. "I hope you keep a close eye on me."

"My pleasure." He grinned at her exit then turned about and approached Akilah with a playful smirk. "My thanks to you, Signore. Your distraction proved just the right trick for me to put a hole in him."

"Always a fulfillment to help a fellow profiteer." She stood back and openly examined him from head to foot. "But how, pray tell, did you manage that hole, compagno?"

"Ah, a special trick. Under normal circumstances I'd have to keep it a secret, but I feel inclined to share a bit of fortune with you, old man." He extended his wrist and turned it palm-side up. "I have a weapon that uses powders to shoot a small metal ball out of this shaft here and into a distanced target. But I needed your distraction to get a good shot. Grazie." He smacked her on the back, and she withheld a grunt.

"It's my pleasure, compagno. I'm glad to be of service and now must be off to—"

"Oh but I haven't properly shown my thanks, Signore!" He grinned then threw an arm around her neck and lowered to her ear. "How about I treat you to a bit of entertainment? It will be in preparation for Carnevale, eh?"

"I appreciate the offer, compagno, but—"

"Ezio," he interrupted jovially. "Call me Ezio." So much for discretion. What kind of assassin gave his name to someone he just met, even if they did help in the killing of…of what?

"Might I inquire what this man's crime was?"

"Walk with me." He pulled her along beneath his arm until they reached a safe distance from the growing crowd then lowered his arm and subconsciously pulled the tip of his hood lower. "Seems the man had some sort of problem with his hostess. She laughed at him, and he pulled a knife."

"We call that an inferiority complex, where I come from." She tilted her head. "No one was hurt, I hope?"

His lips tucked to the side, and she tried not to laugh at how boyish it was. "I'm afraid the signorina lost her life. I was asked to hunt down the bastardo." A shame, though she could not really feel much remorse. The occupation brought on certain risks, and a well-trained prostitute would know better than to let her guard down. She would not say the girl had it coming, but her fate may have been different if she had been better prepared.

"Ah, here we are." He smacked her on the back again then ducked his head. "I'm a little new to Sister Teodora as well, so let's be brave together, eh?" He knocked soundly, and they stepped inside.

The dead girl lay over the bar counter across the room with a few other women crying over her. They must have moved the body because, although blood still stained down her neck to the front of her dress, the surroundings held no evidence of the murder. There was one woman standing a little apart from the others, wearing a white veil over her hair. She was pretty, in a manner of speaking, but Akilah had never found sophisticated Italian faces attractive for women. Nevertheless, there was no doubting she was popular with men or that she was the famous Sister Teodora.

She turned then and spotted the two of them standing near the door. Ezio approached her with a bowed head, but Akilah kept back. "You have our gratitude, Ezio."

"Why is it wherever you go, trouble follows?" snapped the only other man in the room. He was pale and thin with dark Italian features and peasant-style olive clothing. His thin mustache made her want to giggle as it curved perfectly to every movement of his upper lip, but she managed to keep quiet and stoic in the backdrop of the conversation.

"Antonio," interrupted Ezio. "I trust you know why I'm here?"

Antonio sighed. "I imagine to rid Venezia of Marco Barbarigo? But really, Ezio, we did this once already! And this new Templar Doge is a bigger culo than the last. Nevermind that he _never_ leaves the Palazzo." (ass)

"Yes," nodded Teodora. "Except for tonight. Marco wouldn't dare miss Carnevale."

"How do you know this?" Ezio asked.

"In fact, he's throwing the biggest party of them all. But getting in won't be so simple. You'll need a golden mask for entry. And before you think about forging one, keep in mind, each mask is numbered. Fortunately for you, I have an idea. Let's see if we can't _win_ you a mask."

Antonio suddenly straightened and turned his torso toward Akilah still standing near the door. "Mi scusi, Signore. I didn't realize we had an audience."

She started to speak, but Ezio came up beside her and slapped her on the back again with a smirk. "Don't worry, Antonio. He helped me apprehend the murderer."

"Did he now?" Teodora stepped closer and bowed. "Then you are a friend of mine as well, Messer."

"It's no trouble," Akilah replied.

"But it is commendable. Does our hero have a name?"

Akilah chuckled and tipped her hat. "Mi scusi, Signorina, but I have to be going."

"Nonsense!" Ezio chastised. "You only just got here!"

"It sounds like you're all awfully busy. Besides, I have my own plans for Carnevale, Signore." She tipped her large hat to each of them then turned and stepped back out into the street. Ezio smacked her one last time and shut the door behind her. When it slammed, she gawked and rubbed gently on her shoulder blade. "Smack me again, bastardo, and I'll cut off your fingers!" she hissed then moved away back toward Leonardo's. She had not meant to get directly involved with Ezio and his accomplices, but it was useful to know their plans.

* * *

"The golden mask is put up as a prize during Carnevale," said Leonardo as he put a bowl of fruit down on the long table. "There are games set up around the city, and the winner of the most contests wins the golden mask. It's a big ordeal for a common citizen of Venezia to achieve access to the Doge's personal party."

Most doges probably didn't assassinate their predecessor to obtain the position. If they did, she doubted it was by order of a Templar. Still, the golden mask was a clever idea on the part of Sister Teodora. Which reminded her…

"Sister Teodora is a most unusual woman of the cloth." Akilah passed a judgmental and teasing look across the table, and Leonardo suddenly became exceptionally interested in the apple atop the stack of fruits. "Really, Leonardo, you can be such a whore." He gawked offensively, and she shrugged. "She's very lovely, really. I'm thinking about becoming one of her whores, too, just to be closer to her."

He tossed the apple at her head, but she dodged. "She is a good, respectable woman. Her faith is simply a little different from most people's."

Akilah leaned on her elbows and lowered her voice. "Do you go to confession often, withering old sinner?"

He sprung across the table and caught her head in a firm pin beneath his armpit, scattering the fruit and bread onto the floor. "You may be older than me, but you go too far, woman!" He tightened his grip and pulled her halfway across the table. "Surrender!"

"Never!" She pinched him perfectly between the ribs, and he catapulted away from her, flailing his arms wildly before pressing them against the tender skin. She grinned and swiped another apple off the floor. "You'll have to do better than that, young apprentice."

"I accept your challenge!" He snatched a pear and tossed it at her, but she sidestepped and creamed him in the elbow with the apple. He was not deterred, however, and caught her in the ankle with an orange as he fell to a banana upside his head.

She pounced onto the table then dove onto him. He was pinned. "Give up, Leonardo. You've never been the warrior type."

He raised his hands above his head with a smile. "On that we can certainly agree, Madonna."

Akilah helped him to his feet then smacked him on the shoulder. It made since why Ezio did it repetitiously; it felt comfortable. "Enough of your nonsense, though. I was wondering if you could do me a great favor."

"Other than hiding you from the soldiers?" He chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll do whatever I can to help."

She winced a little and shuffled on her feet. "I need a costume for Carnevale."

Leonardo stared at her. "A costume?" She nodded. "You expect me to find you a costume only hours before Carnevale, the biggest event in all of Italia?" She smiled innocently but felt the smallest strain in her uncertain eyes. Yet he beamed. "I have just the thing. Come!" He led her out of the den, down the stairs, and into the workshop. On the far side of the room, he swung open two tall wooden doors and rummaged through the cluttered closet. "I saw it in the window and knew you had to have it. Ah! Here we are."

Akilah actually stepped back from the gown. The main fabric was beige velvet embroidered with white silk and trimmed in thick spreads of gold and pearl. The sleeve puffs were off-the-shoulder and cut off at the elbows, allowing for a deep but elegant dip in the matching bodice fronted with v-cut gold frills. She fell in love instantaneously, but with nothing more so than the gold mask that arched back to the ears and had slithers of gold strings dangling over the nose down to the lips. Oh, it was superb indeed.

"I also bought this to match." Leonardo pulled another piece out of the closet, and a perfectly matching crown piece glistened in the lamplight. It rose in small spires topped with pearls as the headband wrapped in gold-embroidered beige satin that tucked firmly into the wearer's hair. Nothing in the world could have fit more rightly with the ensemble.

"Oh Leonardo." She reached out and touched it softly with her fingertips. "It's absolutely beautiful. It must've cost you a fortune."

"It cost me a pretty penny, but it will be worth every florin to see you in it."

She caressed a handful of the velvet then looked at him. "How did you know I would come?"

He shrugged and smiled. "I bought this a few years ago. I didn't know when, but I knew someday you'd come back. I don't know why, but somehow I just knew. And vuala! Here you are!"

Akilah giggled and flicked the fabric between her fingers. "Vuala! But since when do you stop calling me 'teacher,' young man?"

"Since I acquired more wrinkles than you, Signorina." She pinched his arm, and he recoiled with a dramatic gasp. "Really, be more mature!"

"I'll show you mature!" She pinched his side then his stomach and neck before he flittered around behind the dress and held it safely between them. "Come out and fight like a man, Messer!"

"Stay back! I'm warning you! I'll call in reinforcements and then you'll be sorry!"

"Reinforcements? What reinforcements, old man? It's Carnevale, everyone has gone on to—"

"Akilah?"

She stopped. Her muscles turned to stone, and Leonardo's eyes darted toward the door as his grin faded. He looked back at her, and she knew she had to face the voice. She had to face the reinforcements. Slowly, she turned.

Ezio stood motionless with one hand holding the front door ajar and his lips gradually drifting further apart. Aside from his shock, he looked as wonderful as he always did. He no longer wore the traditional white assassin's robes, however, but a black robe cut in the Italian style and hanging like eagle wings down to his boots. And his armor—

She felt her whole body tense. Altaïr's armor! The family had it all this time!

"Ezio—"

Then he was out the door.

"Ezio, wait!" She vaulted over the work station between them and barreled out the door after him. There was the briefest glimpse of a reflective light against the building across the yard, and she sprinted through the dirt and spidered up the structure to the roof. His black silhouette was barely visible in the fading daylight, but she charged after him mindlessly.

God, he was fast! He nearly took flight as he circumvented through the rooftops with an experience he had certainly not possessed ten years ago. She would not be the slightest bit surprised to see him jump off and sprout wings.

"Ezio, wait!"

Luckily the majority of Venezia had diverted to Dorsoduro, giving her all the freedom she needed to call out to the man. If she did not know better, though, she would speculate the distance between them was widening rather than narrowing. Then again, she didn't know better. Ten years ago, she could have raced the city twice before he finished a single lap, but now it was all she could do to keep him in sight.

"Come back, Ezio! Stop!" He leapt off a rooftop, and she hissed. "Damn!" She skidded to a halt at the edge and peered down into the undisturbed canal below. There was no escape against the flat sides of the building, and the bridge was too far away to reach before she saw him. Where the devil had he gone? "Merda! Uomo coraggioso, making such a daring escape. I could've explained all this!" (brave man)

"In bocca al lupo." (good luck)

She jolted, slipping on the ledge, and plummeted for the canal below. She barely reached the first window, however, as he grabbed her wrist and stopped her fall. Slowly, they worked together to hoist her back to a safe, dry perch on the rooftop. She stumbled forward into him, and he scooped his arms around her.

"Are you all right?"

Akilah blinked up at him then blushed and nodded. "Yes, I'm fine. You startled me is all."

He paused then released her and stepped back. "That doesn't seem an especially easy thing to do."

"Usually it isn't." She smiled. "I guess you've gotten quite good, my young friend."

His jaw tightened. "What're you doing here?" Right. To business.

"I was asked by your uncle Mario to lend a hand. You've been in Venezia a while, which makes you as infamous as you are famous. It never hurts to have another ally."

"I don't need your help." He said so, but his voice was not harsh. It was just dry.

"All the same, I agreed to Mario's request and will help you to get rid of Marco. Afterwards, if you wish it, I will leave, no questions asked." Untrue. Mario asked her to help him free Venezia from Templar strings, which included Marco's accomplices, Silvio and Dante Moro. She was relying on the faith that either Ezio would change his mind and accept her stay, or they would manage to eliminate all three in one row. She honestly hoped it would be the first.

"You'll just up and leave, is it?" He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her suspiciously. "Disappear without a trace?"

"If that's what you prefer." It bothered her that it just might be.

"I'd prefer you to stop interfering in my affairs. This doesn't concern you, and my uncle's business deals are not intended to impose upon me."

"I assure you, I can assist without the slightest imposition."

"You're very presence is an imposition. How do you intend to even blend in looking the way you do? You expect no one to turn eyes on us?"

"I can wear makeup, and it's dark out. No one will notice my skin, and I'll wear a wig if it will help."

"Not in the slightest, woman, I wasn't talking about your damn color." He hissed. "Curse my luck. I never should have visited the villa."

She ducked her head and stared around. "I'm sorry if it's such an inconvenience for you. I know you wished to never see me again, but I couldn't refuse Mario. I'm indebted to him."

"Tell me how much, and I'll give it to you now to be rid of you."

"He saved my life." She met his eyes then shrugged. "Metaphorically speaking."

"I shall do better." He stepped closer and lowered his voice. "Leave now, and your life will be saved from _me_. Literally."

Akilah pouted her lip and set her hands on her hips. He had grown a great deal, but his impertinence was still grating. "I beg your pardon, _assassino_, but I think I've been quite hospitable about all this. My good nature will only give you so much leniency, and if you insist on antagonizing me with your brutish tongue I'll be forced to rouse the guard and put a stitch in your little ploy." She pressed a hand against his chest and pushed him to arm's length. "I said I'll leave, and I will, but not until I've finished my business on Mario's behalf. If you're so eager to get rid of me, I suggest we stop wasting time bickering and set about with Teodora's idea, hm?"

His eyes narrowed. "How did you…" He blanched. "The old man."

She nodded. "Forgive my deception. I had not originally intended to directly collaborate with you, but after the shooting, it proved an opportune moment to enter the loop. I never meant to mislead you."

"You have such clever skill at such," he scoffed and stepped back from her. They stared silently at one another for several long moments until he suddenly grinned mischievously. "You want to help me? Very well. I have an idea."

She quirked an eyebrow. His excitement made her skin itch.

* * *

"Signore e Signori, come one, come all! The games of Carnevale are about to begin! Do you have the coraggio to compete for as grand a prize as this? This year, like every year, the Golden Mask will provide entry for one, e uno solo, to our most beloved Doge's personal ball! Who would not desire such an exceptional reward? Come! Compete! Whoever proves themself champion in each of our four games today shall be the Doge's personal guest tonight!" (ladies and gentlemen) (courage) (and only one)

Akilah straightened her mask and rubbed her slipper against her thigh. The dress was beautiful, but it gave her quite an unappealing itch. "When Teodora said 'win you a mask,' this isn't exactly what I had in mind."

Her right arm was tucked loosely around Ezio's extended elbow, and he patted her hand with a grin. "On the contrary, I prefer it this way. A little more victory with a little less blood, mm?"

She stared then shrugged. "Yes, I guess that's true."

"I'm going to look into these games. Meanwhile, you keep an eye on Silvio and Dante. We don't want them running off and telling Marco about any of their suspicions."

He turned to leave, but she pulled him back by his bicep. "Wait a minute. What if you lose? What'll we do then?"

He snorted. "Have a little faith, Akilah. I am an expert at challenges." He winked and slipped free of her to listen in on the first event.

"Signori, Signori! This may be the easiest challenge yet—or the hardest! A game of charisma and charm! Step right up, step right up! Who shall win the prize?"

Akilah slithered through the crowd to the far corner of the courtyard and listened carefully to the ringleader. Silvio and Dante stood near the stage watching the people carefully as some stood eagerly around the game and the rest danced and laughed to the merry music.

"Welcome, gentlemen! Whether you win or lose, this will certainly be your _favorite_ game of the day! Ladies? Here's how the game is played! All the ladies in this district have ribbons. Your job is to obtain them. Whoever has the most before my hourglass runs out is one step closer to winning the golden mask!"

Akilah could not restrain rolling her eyes. Nope. He would have no trouble getting the mask if that was as difficult as it got.

She took the time to examine the Dorsoduro District. There were multiple game booths and costume sellers set up all along the streets filled with the whole of Venezia. Everyone was dressed in brilliant costumes and fine masks, even the jesters and brutes carrying loads of fireworks and displays from street to street practically skipped in merriment. She was especially impressed with the chipper atmosphere of the fire breathers and jugglers who were sweating under the hot ether of Carnevale. Strings of small flags and divine paper lanterns hung all about the rooftops, and every light post was glowing over the cheerful music and dancing.

Ah, Carnevale de Venezia, how beautiful!

"You have anything for me, belle mie?" Akilah looked away from the dancing circle across the courtyard and watched three women hand their flags over to Ezio. He grinned swooningly at them and caressed one's chin before breezing past for the next lot. "You're all looking lovely this evening." (my beauties)

She curled her lip and leaned back against a light post. These women were so fickle it was almost nauseating. True, Ezio was a born charmer, but really. Some of them openly flirted even in the company of their patrons.

"May I join you?"

She turned on the smooth voice and smiled at the young man. He was tall and slim with long brown curls and a shadowed goatee that aged his dark eyes splendidly. Finely dressed in black and soft blue, she enjoyed the way he observed her intriguingly. "That depends," she answered in a confident stratagem. "Do you seek to obtain something of mine?"

He stepped closer, bringing them so close his arm touched the front of her dress when he tapped her beneath the chin. "I would enjoy obtaining many things from you, la mia stella." (my star)

"Well aren't you confident, Messer." She pointed an eyebrow with a smile. "What's in it for me, tesoro mio?"

His grinned widened. "La mia stella, I do believe I might fall in love with you."

"Indeed." She pressed a finger into his chest and winked at his curious eyes. "Se vuoi amarmi, per null'altro sia se non che per amore." (If thou must love me, let it be for naught except for love's sake only)

"But of course, Signorina. But for now, could I trouble you for a ribbon?"

She laughed out loud now, patted his chest belittlingly, and strolled past him. "I don't have any, birbante." He didn't curse behind her, but she felt his eyes upon her as he moved to the next lass. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, smiled coyly at his stare, and continued onward.

Until she was yanked into the shadows of a tight alley well secluded from anyone who was not looking for the crawlspace. She blinked up at Ezio as he checked that no one had seen. "Have you already wooed all the women in Dorsoduro?"

"I'm getting to it." He frowned and put a condemning finger in her face. "You're supposed to be blending in, not attracting the attention of the local lurido porco. What if he's affiliated with the Barbarigos?"

"I might have to change allegiances." She peeked out as well and grinned as the boy searched the crowd for her face. "So cute."

"_Akilah_." She looked back at him, and they stared blankly at one another until he chuckled. It was real, too. "Don't go misguiding some poor boy eager to find himself an exotic beauty to boast about, hm?"

"Well that simply isn't fair." She wiggled a finger at him. "You get to roam the whole district and steal a few ribbons, among other things, and I'm simply supposed to stand alone in a corner watching two bastardi figure out how to kill off any suspicious competitors?"

"'_Fair'_?" He threw back his head and laughed out loud.

She set her hands on her hips and threw her nose up. "You see what I mean? Now I'm leaving before my prey escapes."

"Wait, wait." He subdued his laughter and held her stationary at the shoulders. His lips twitched to grin, but he managed to resist the urge. "All right, don't stand in some damp corner if it displeases you, but don't go drawing attention to yourself either. The boy is love struck at first sight, he'll remember your face even in marriage! That's the exact type of notice I wanted to avoid, but you insisted—"

"I told you I would wear a wig and makeup, but you said not to bother. You can't go changing your mind now that—"

"It was never your color I was worried about, damn you, I already said that." He sighed patronizingly then chuckled and cupped her face in both hands. "Come sei bella, Madonna." (How beautiful you are)

She blushed but grinned. "Grazie, Messer. You're not too bad yourself."

He brushed a strand of hair from her forehead then kissed it and headed down the alley. "Remember: a low profile."

"I know, I know." She situated the crown that had ridden up from his touch. The world could take Ezio out of noble scenes, but they could never take the nobility out of Ezio. Thank God, too. Otherwise he might be without his cunning and allure, and she could not imagine him without massive amounts of either.

* * *

To no surprise, Ezio won the first game with twenty-eight ribbons, surpassing second place by eleven ribbons—who was her young pursuer. The second task stood an equally small chance of outdoing Ezio as he completed the obstacle course around the district in a little over a minute as the other competitors breeched closer to a minute and half or more. The third game was a little riskier, and Ezio barely managed to outmaneuver the small guard and retrieve then deliver three flags before his opponent. The guard had two, but Ezio managed the third one before the man could put a knot in his score.

Akilah was genuinely impressed by Ezio's performance in each test, though it was obvious he enjoyed the challenge. Silvio and Dante were not as pleased as they glared and tapped their fingers on their crossed arms. It was amusing watching them get more and more ruffled with each game, nonetheless there was little they could do at this point with Ezio now jovially accepted by the public into the spotlight. The men slapped him on the back while the women clucked excitedly at his heels.

Yet he kept throwing his smile in her direction. Sometimes it was to check up on her discretion, but usually it was for fun. They would grin and wink at one another like two partners outdoing the competition by leagues, as they certainly were. Once in a while, she caught herself applauding with the rest and blushing under her mask.

When had she reverted back to something as childish as blushing? Just months ago she abhorred the thought of laughter, let alone girlish flushing. "Tsk. That time on the sea set me too straight, I think." But she was happy for it. She had been in a rut for so long, long before Firenze and Giovanni, yet somehow she felt the greatest sense of freedom from such thoughts. She felt herself again, like all those years ago when the world was safer and simpler.

Ezio took her back to that time whenever he smiled at her. He was angry when he saw her again, but there was never any real malice when he condemned her. On the contrary, he had been remarkably calm and exceptionally forgiving thus far. Something in her made her believe that Ezio had actually forgiven her a long time ago. There was just some other issue lingering between them, and she knew what it was.

They lacked honesty. There was still so very little he knew about her, and, judging by his armor, he had a few secrets of his own.

"Benvenuti, lottatori! The game is simple. There's only one rule: no weapons. Fight until you are the last man left standing! Will it be you? O tu? Hm? Who will win the golden mask?" (welcome, fighters) (or you)

A fist fight, huh? Could be most entertaining. She moved through the crowd smoothly and brought herself up directly behind Silvio and Dante. The view between their shoulders was perfect for seeing the chosen arena as Ezio stepped down into it and three men followed.

The first man was small and anxious as he swung a punch, but Ezio swatted the throw aside and tossed the man head-over-feet into the canal. The second opponent was a little more limber yet still failed to land a hit as Ezio threw his shoulder against the knuckles then grabbed a handful of the man's shirt and pummeled him in the ribcage before knocking him out with a final punch to the face. The last man was massive in comparison to the other two, even in comparison to Ezio. Ezio guarded his face and ribs against the slew of attacks then yanked the man's head back and chopped him in the throat. The man gagged, and Ezio stepped up on his leg and kneed him in the face. He groaned and rolled on his side, but Ezio's foot to his face sent him limp.

"Looks like this one thinks himself some kind of campione," smirked Silvio. "Go on, Dante. Show him how sadly mistaken he is." (champion)

Dante pressed forward, and Akilah stepped back as a soldier broke through to better witness the brawl. She turned then to a loud squeal and stared strangely at the wailing pig barreling down the hill at top speed in a wheelbarrow. The vehicle sprung off the edge of the dock, and the crying pig was silenced. Several men at the top of the hill hollered with drunken delight, but she gawked.

"Monstrous!" She hurried down the road and pulled the drowning pig from the water. It scrambled away full force, and the roars of the men continued as they readied the next victim. She jumped up and marched back toward them. "You think that's funny? Miserabili pezzo di merda!" She snatched a handful of dirt from the road and flung it in their eyes. They coughed and swatted at the grains, and she pushed the pig off the wagon then opened the pin. The pork bolted away as fast as their hoofed feet would carry them, and the men scrambled around after the curly tails.

Akilah spat after them then shoved her way back into the fighting crowd. Dante hobbled back to Silvio with his head ducked and blood trickling down his chin to the white sash of his outfit. Ezio's lip was also bloody, but he remained standing without further evidence of injury.

"Is there nobody else to challenge our man in the ring?" called the ringleader with dramatic waves of his arms. "Do we have a winner?" There were no volunteers, and Akilah's lips tugged in a smile.

Then Silvio stepped forward. He and the ringleader exchanged whispered words, but Akilah saw the passing of a small purse. "Damn," she hissed.

"Ah! We have combatants!" Four armed soldiers marched up to the arena, and Ezio stepped to its edge with a smirk.

"So that's how it's going to be, eh?"

Akilah pulled her own knife and positioned herself behind Silvio. If things turned sour, she would have no choice but to dispose of Silvio and Dante then worry about Marco some other time. This would have been blasphemous to her before, but this strange self-revolution made her priorities different. If it was Ezio or the mission, she would choose Ezio.

Ezio dispatched the guards efficiently, though, then climbed out of the arena and followed the fidgeting ringleader back onto the stage. He passed her a cautious glance, and she sheathed her blade.

"Signore e Signori! The games of Carnevale have come to a glorious conclusion! Come see our winner claim his golden mask!" Silvio brandished the mask for all to see, and Akilah had to admit it was unique. "Our winner has proven himself the fleetest of foot, the strongest of champions, the wisest strategist—and clearly a favorite of the ladies. With four games won lealmente, the winner of the golden mask is—" Silvio cleared his throat loudly, and the ringleader hesitated. "The winner of the golden mask is—_Dante Moro_!" (fair and square)

What! She stepped forward indignantly but stopped as the rest of the onlookers booed and shouted in objection. Their indignant protests almost made her smile, and she settled back into position.

But Ezio silently stepped away for the men, and Silvio handed the mask to a passive Dante. "Congratulations. We'll see you this evening."

The smug look on Silvio's face made her want to asphyxiate him then wrap his body in her dress and send it down the hill in his own wheelbarrow. No one would miss him.

She drifted away with the crowd then slipped into an alleyway where Ezio already waited. "Not very subtle, is he?"

"Why waste the time?" Ezio bit out.

She put her hand around his bicep and guided him onto the street. "We couldn't have known. Besides, I think you won over a few fans."

"This isn't a time to kid around," he sighed. "I have to get that mask. If Marco escapes—"

"He won't." She squeezed his arm, and he looked at her. "Let's not be brash now. We should return to Antonio and Teodora first, learn if they've discovered any change in events. There is more at stake here than returning the honor of Doge to a decent man." He nodded surrender, and she smiled. "You did very well in the games, by the way. I was quite impressed."

"I was hoping you would be." He grinned at her, and she laughed.

* * *

Akilah stood quietly behind the desk as she, Teodora, and Antonio watched Ezio pace back and forth across the room. It was tiresome watching him stomp about, and time was wearing thin. Marco's party would begin within the hour, and they still had no pass into the extravaganza.

"I'm sorry, Ezio," said Teodora. "We could not have known Silvio would cheat as he did."

Antonio scoffed and pointed a finger at Ezio. "You should have."

"Sister!" A blonde dame hurried into the room out of breath. "You told us to let you know if we saw that rottinculo who stole the Golden Mask! He's on his way to the Doge's party!" (cocksucker)

"I will go," Ezio interrupted. "I can catch him before he arrives and take back the mask."

"How?" snapped Antonio. "By killing the poor stronzo?"

Ezio paused. "Yes. You know what's at stake."

"_No_. If you kill him, they'll cancel the party, and Marco will retreat back into his Palazzo. We'll have wasted our time—again. Steal the mask instead. Quietly."

Teodora put a hand on Antonio's shoulder, diverting his growing frustration and advances on Ezio. "My girls can help. They're already on their way to the party, all along the route. They can help you distract him while you acquire the mask."

"Va bene," agreed Ezio. "I can do that." Then he looked past them at Akilah, who watched him in silence. He extended a hand. "Coming?"

She ducked around the counter, bowed to the others, and let him lead her out the door. Then they crossed the city in silence. A few courtesans trailed discretely behind them, but he never let go of her hand as they wandered the streets like Count Vlad Dracula III, Prince of Wallachia, and his mysterious first wife, Elizabetta. It was empowering to move as one through the darkness of the exotic lust of Venezia. Nevertheless, that unspoken rift remained between them. Their hands touched, but they would never reach each other this way.

She looked at him. "Ezio?"

He glanced only briefly at her. "Mm?"

"It's been a long time since we've seen each other. Don't you have any questions for me?"

He shook his head. "No, not really." Disappointing. "Besides, is this really the time?"

"No better time than the present," she goaded. "A lot must have happened in ten years."

"I'm sure whatever you were up to was important, but it really has nothing to do with me. We should focus on the mission at hand. We can't afford to be distracted."

She nodded and averted her gaze. "Of course." She had a million questions for him, ranging from protocol like where he acquired Altaïr's armor to simple curiosity like if he still didn't snore when he slept. Time had been long, but she had thought about him a great deal since their departure.

"There he is," he said suddenly, and Dante exited a courtyard behind a squad of guards. The golden mask barely protruded from a pouch tied to his belt. "Ladies." The courtesans moved ahead as a group, and Ezio made to follow them.

Akilah stood stationary, and he glanced at her as their hands retaliated. She forced a smile and relinquished her hold. "Go."

His brow furrowed. "I thought we were doing this together?"

"You have your plan, and it doesn't require me. I'm just here to keep an eye on you." She winked and meandered away. "Buona fortuna, Messer."

He grabbed her hand. "Where are you going?"

"Don't worry. I can't keep an eye on you from just anywhere. Now hurry, before he gets away." He hesitated but released her and swept after the courtesans and his prey.

She took in a deep breath and headed for the canal. But first, she needed to get out of this costume.

* * *

The water was warm, even for night. It did much to set her nerves at ease. Dressed now in brown leather britches and a blue tunic beneath a scarlet corset, she glided up quietly to the side of the ship containing Marco Barbarigo. Only her nose and eyes hovered above the surface, and her raven hair was bound firmly to the back of her head in a bun. There would be no distractions.

She could scarcely make out the golden mask amidst the crowd but also Dante Moro's face moving with the guards. Ezio must have successfully obtained his prize, provided he could keep hidden long enough to kill Marco. Teodora was nearby as well, silently guiding her girls around the party for cover. She liked this Teodora more and more—so clever.

Akilah looked up the side of the ship, grabbed hold of the lowest beam, and slowly pulled herself out of the water. All of Marco's troops were clustered onshore and on the front and back views of the ship, so no one was there to see her dark figure gradually ascend the side facing into the dark canal. Good thing she had chosen tight clothes because even the ones she wore did a little more dripping than she wished. Still, no one drew alert.

She peeked over the edge of the main deck and watched the soldiers patrol rigorously. Marco stood near the captain's door conversing with the main man himself. It would be hard to kill him, even from this distance. Then again, all his troops were heavily armored and would no doubt sink were she to make it back into the water. Whether she could out-swim a ship, however, was up for debate.

"Signore e Signori!" A man with a head like an under-boiled egg raised his arms high to the crowd, and they turned in silence. "I present to you the beloved Doge of Venezia!"

Marco took the post now on the other side of the deck. He was directly across from her, no more than ten feet. "Benvenuti! Welcome, my friends, to the greatest social event of the season! At peace or at war, in times of prosperity or paucity, Venezia will always have Carnevale!"

Yes, a very moving speech, zubra. She studied the guards, but no one moved as the fireworks burst loudly overhead. Why was he not leaving the boat? (dick)

"Tonight!" he continued. "We celebrate what makes us great! How bright our lights shine over the world!" He walked the stretch of the deck, waving his arms to the guests. "We all know we have come through troubled times, but we have come through them together, and—"

There was an explosion of sound again, keenly louder than the bursts of light overhead, and Marco reeled back from the banner, clutching his chest.

Now!

Akilah sprung on deck as the guards herded toward shore. She caught Marco in her lap, and he gasped up at her, clutching his chest as his blood poured from a small hole. "No," he breathed. "It's too soon…I'm not ready."

She bowed her head and pressed her hand gently against the wound. "We rarely are. Che la morte non sia crudele…Requiescat in pace." She whipped back her hand, and an assassin's blade shot from her wrist before she drowned it in his throat. He didn't suffer long as the bullet wound drained his heart as well. (Death be not unkind)

"Look! There's another!"

She didn't waste time meeting eyes with the soldier but turned on her heel, dropping Marco's head hard against the deck, and hurtled herself off the side into the dark canal. Some arrows shot at her as she dove, but she was gone. They would never catch her in the chaos.

She swam to the opposing shore, far beyond the view of the guards and the skirmishes, and hoisted herself onto the dock. Her boots, mask, and cloak sat neatly waiting for her, but she took a moment of silence for the departed then dressed and rushed away in the shadows.

* * *

Somehow she beat Ezio back to Teodora's. Antonio was more than happy to entertain her in his absence, but she wondered what held him up. He had to get a certain distance from Marco for the bullet to reach him but easily far enough to make a successful escape. What kept him?

"You say you yourself have a way with a blade?" Antonio asked as he sipped on his goblet of ale. "I love a woman who can fend for herself."

"I gather," she smiled and gave a pointed look to the other ladies in the room. He only chuckled.

Then the door opened, and Ezio entered in—unscathed. She felt her chest fall in a quiet sigh.

And as he entered, a group of girls hurried up to him and flattered him with kisses and tender touches. "Beautifully done!" one cheered.

"Che spettacolo! Che spettacolo!" (What a show)

"A true hero!"

"You must be exhausted," smiled Teodora as she took his hand and led him away from the girls. "Come. Relax."

"Ah!" Antonio cheered as he strolled up to them tucking in his shirt like a cad. "The savior of Venezia!" He held out his arms. "What can I say? Perhaps it was wrong of me to doubt so readily." He clamped him on the shoulder. "Now we'll see where all the pieces fall."

Teodora shook her head and removed Antonio's hand. "Enough of that now. You've worked hard, my son. I feel your tired body in need of comfort and succor." Akilah snorted.

Ezio smiled slyly at Teodora and lightly traced his fingers over the open bosom of her dress. "But I have such aches and pains, Sister. I may need a great deal of comfort and succor."

"Oh," smiled Teodora, removing his hand, "that can be arranged. Girls!" The girls flocked quickly and led him away as he grinned openly at Teodora.

Akilah arched a brow, jaw squared open, and licked the back of her teeth. He hadn't even noticed her. "Mph. May be a better assassin, but an even bigger puttana than he was before."

Teodora turned then and eyed her sitting alone on the couch. "What about you, Signoria? You must be tired as well."

Akilah stared dryly. "You have something useful to offer me, Sister? Because I surely would not benefit from the same comfort and succor." She hated that word. Disgusting! The English language had some truly despicable creations.

Teodora smiled and extended her hand. "This way."

Akilah closed her mouth but kept her jaw squared disapprovingly. She liked Teodora, really, but no woman could honestly resist being infuriated by women who distracted the men of their lives. Hypocritical, to be sure, but nonetheless true.

She followed Teodora to the small kitchen area in the back, and Teodora set out a glass. "This will be our secret." She opened a small cupboard in the corner and walked back with a bottle of wine.

Akilah watched then dropped her elbow on the table and extended her hand before Teodora could open it. "May I?" Teodora nodded politely and plopped the bottle in her palm. Akilah turned it to read. "French. 1348." She smirked, popped off the cork, and poured the glass full then slid it across to Teodora. "After you."

Teodora looked calmly left and right then picked up the glass and took a humble drink. She smiled afterward and handed the remaining three quarters to Akilah. "To the liberation of Venezia."

Akilah smirked and accepted. "Bad year for France, 1348." She met Teodora's eyes. "Black Death took Paris until the middle of '49." But she drank and sighed fully. "Still good."

Teodora laughed when Akilah handed it to her again. "It's the little pleasures."

"Indeed!" They finished off three glasses before Teodora took her leave, and Akilah sat on the table drinking the cupboard dry.

* * *

_Bang Clink Clang Ping Clank Clonk Clatter_

Allah, what was all the noise? Akilah squinted against the small candlelight of the kitchen and tossed an empty wine bottle at it. It missed completely and shattered against the wall, but a voice swore loudly. "Keep it down! I'm trying to sleep off all this fucking wine, bastardo." She rolled away from the light and dropped her head back on the table.

"Akilah?"

She groaned, flounced back over, and squinted at the intruder as he moved closer. The candlelight slowly brought the shirtless figure into focus. "Mm? Ezio. What're you doing here?"

He scoffed. "I might ask you the same question. Did you drink all the wine?"

She giggled. "Is that what you've been looking for? Puttanas don't need wine to get to sleep, idiota. Just run their energy dry, my good man!" She slapped him clumsily on the chest then rolled back over and cuddled the nearest empty bottle.

He chuckled then cleared his throat. "Don't you think you should find a bed?"

She shook her head. "I'm quite used to sleeping on a table."

"What does that mean? How can you be used to sleeping on a table?"

"I spent three straight years strapped to one while Templars tortured me nearly to death," she sighed and waved her hand wildly in the air. "A little alcohol is _no_ problem." She snuggled her nose against the bottle, and silence followed. Ah, sweet silence…

Then she sat straight up and, ignoring the flurry in her head, looked at Ezio. He stood immobile with an apprehension in his body not normal for his character. His eyes were transfixed on her, and she rubbed her lips oddly together. "I'm-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say that out loud."

He shook his head. "You were…You were the one suffering. Why the hell are you apologizing?"

She averted her gaze and felt the alcohol rapidly losing effect. "You weren't supposed to hear that."

"What?" he scoffed. She didn't look at him, and he marched back over to the cupboard. He rummaged a moment longer then hopped up beside her and popped off the cork of a small bottle. "You missed one." He took a long swig then held it out for her.

Akilah glanced at it then smirked, grabbed hold of the neck, and took a long drink. He chuckled beside her and accepted the chance for his next swallow. It was Teodora all over again, except this time they were not taking considerate sips. They drank as much as the air in their lungs would go without breath.

But it was not enough to make them drunk—or distract him.

"What happened to you?" She glanced at him, and he didn't look away. "After you left Monteriggioni."

She smirked and snatched the bottle back. "I thought you hadn't given me a second thought since you ordered me to leave that day?"

"I never said that," he defended playfully. "I said I didn't have any questions, which was a lie. I just…I don't know, I guess I wasn't ready to let you back in just yet."

"A little wine works miracles for relationships, doesn't it?" They laughed and she passed him the bottle.

"Apparently." He took a drink, and it was empty. He stared at it a few long silent seconds then set it on the table. "In all honesty, I've thought about you every day since you left." She snapped her eyes on him, and he smiled in embarrassment. "I thought you'd forgotten about me by now."

She snorted and elbowed him lightly. "Didn't have the time. What do you think I was in that awful place for?"

He tensed, and an unexpected horror struck his face. "You were there because of me?"

She shrugged, both alarmed and flattered by his concern. "Well, sort of." She turned to face him and crossed her legs. He shifted interestedly and lifted one leg on the table, his knee pressing into hers. "You see, after I left Monteriggioni, I returned to Firenze to finish some clean-up, and a few other affairs. I revisited the sea from there and remained for a good six years. Unfortunately, after helping you, I attracted more eyes than I intended. We docked in Acre, and I decided to return home to Damascus for a short while.

"But I was captured shortly after reaching land. The Templars took me to Tadmur where I was held prisoner. For three years I rotted in that Godforsaken shithole with those bastards getting every type of use they could out of me."

Ezio's nostrils flared, and his jaw shifted. "Did they…Did they…?"

Akilah looked away again, took a deep breath, and returned to him. "Eventually I escaped. I don't rightly know how it happened, even now, but I'd like to think Allah decided enough was enough and intervened on my behalf. Alhamdulilah. La ilaha ilAllah." She kissed her hands and raised them upward before continuing. "I managed to reclaim the weapons they had stolen from me and fled to Masyaf, the city of your ancestors and previous home to the Brotherhood." She pressed her finger into his chest. "Where the man who made your beloved armor trained and fought during the Crusades." (All praise is due to Allah. There is no deity but Allah)

Ezio blinked. "Altaïr?"

She nodded. "Altaïr Ibn la-Ahad." She smiled and lowered her head. "He was a great man."

He opened his mouth silently and continued to do so for the better part of a minute. Until he reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a thin sliver of silver. "Akilah." She looked up, and her eyes widened as he dangled the clear stone before her. "Did you lose this?"

She gawked and took it from him with great care, clutching the stone against her chest. "Where did you find this?"

"In a trade market three years ago. I bought it because…" He cleared his throat. "Well, you can guess why I bought it."

She pulled back her hands and stared at the glistening rock. She thought she had lost it forever. Having it back in her hands, all the black of her soul suddenly dispelled like a burst of sunlight. "This is very precious to me. I can't thank you enough for returning this, I—" She stopped and stared at his smiling face.

That barrier between them felt remarkably close. So close she could reach out and touch it.

She pooled the necklace in her palm and held it between them. It was time to knock that wall to rubble. "This necklace was a gift from Altaïr. It was given as a present while he lay on his deathbed."

He blanched. "From Altaïr? He gave this to your ancestors?"

She shook her head. "No. He gave it to me."

"Well that's impossible, he—" He stared at her nod, and no immediate thoughts came to voice. "But…How…You…That would mean you're—"

"Three hundred and eighteen years old." Jesus, she had never said this out loud. "Ezio…I'm immortal."


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

He was quiet far too long. His eyebrow arched too high for normalcy while the other pointed down into the crease between them as his eyes narrowed in puzzlement. For several long, silent, grating seconds, he just stared at her with that look. Allah help her, he was going to snap. How did someone explain something like immortality to someone nearly three hundred years younger than them? Ah, astaghfiru lillah! (I seek forgiveness from Allah)

Ezio took a slow breath, his broad chest rising steadily with the inhalation, and held it briefly. "So…you mean you…can't die?…Or something?"

She crinkled her nose at the true complexity of the answer but settled for the simpler response. "Well, 'immortal' might be a strong word. I can't grow old is what it really is. Eternal youth, putting it romantically."

He nodded slowly as a few more moments of silence passed between them until his eyebrows evened out in calm understanding. "That explains a lot."

Scusi? Did her ears deceive her? "W-What?"

He leaned one elbow into his knee and shrugged with a small nod. "I had all these suspicions but couldn't really come up with a solid explanation. How did you know my father _and_ Leonardo without either of them being friends or my mother having ever seen you? Why did you know so much about the Templars and fighting when you were trying to pass yourself off as some ambassador who clearly did have close ties in most situations? Why would my uncle trust you to come to Venezia and assist me with so many traitors across the world? How could you know some of the things you know if you're so young? And why in God's name did you look so much like that woman? Now that I know this secret of yours, everything falls into place."

Akilah furrowed her brow. "What woman?"

He grinned boyishly, causing a sweet humor to light his eyes. "Did you really think a boy of seven wouldn't remember a face like yours?" She blanched, and he laughed fully. "I admit, when I saw you at Leonardo's ten years ago, I thought you might be her daughter or something, but I never would've guessed you were one and the same." He tucked in the corner of his mouth and glanced at the ceiling then smirked and pointed an eyebrow. "Well, I did wonder when I saw you at Leonardo's this time, but I assumed I was imagining that you're exactly as I remembered."

She scoffed. "Well I'll be damned." Here she was, expecting this great turbulent slew of insults and deliria while the little stronzo already formulated his own speculations. He even remembered her from all those years ago. It was true, he spent a good deal of his time staring at her then and back in Firenze, but it was not her nature to get a big head under a foreigner's eyes. But this was an unexpected development that made her feel happier than she would confess.

He chuckled and took his elbow off his knee to rest his hand against the table and keep her gaze in his. "I have so many questions. I don't even know where to start!" He bit his lip then brightened excitedly. "Tell me about Altaïr. What was he like? How did you know him? How did he come up with the blade upgrades? Was he the leader of the assassins? Was there a Brotherhood back then?"

"One question at a time," she smiled. "Yes, there has always been a Brotherhood, but Altaïr was not the leader, per se, for some time. Before him it was headed by a great wise man named Al Mualim, but afterwards there became a struggle between Altaïr and another assassin seeking to claim power. Their cohorts went on to become the descendants of today."

"There're other descendants? How many? Why haven't I seen any of the rest of the Brotherhood? Am I a direct descendant? How can I—"

She pressed her palm flat against his mouth and shooshed him. "I'm not finished answering the other questions, birbante." He smiled against her hand, and she smacked his forehead lightly. "The Brotherhood has dissipated over the years due to the Templars' power and vigilance, but it remains nonetheless. You've probably seen some and not even known. You, in particular, are a direct descendant of Altaïr. You and your uncle Mario are his only remaining bloodline."

His face darkened painfully as he leaned on his knee once more. "How did the line become so thin?"

"Like every line does, I suppose." She paused then shook her head sadly. "Although your ancestors have faced a particular prejudice over the years. Altaïr was not just any assassin, tesoro mio, he was an exceptional leader and valuable asset to the Brotherhood, on top of being the most skilled assassin of his time. His descendants have never been any different, so the Templars have done their best to rid themselves of his blood. Like the skills are inherited or some such nonsense. They've always been too superstitious for their own good, and not in a spiritual way. Their biggest problem has forever been putting far too much faith in the power of man instead of bowing to the will of things they cannot control."

Ezio smirked. Anything she had to say against the Templars apparently pleased him, and something about the way he nodded made her wonder if her secret made her words all the more satisfying for him. "But how did you get involved in all this? And how did you…you know?"

She smiled and slapped her hands against her knees, squaring her shoulders and elbows as she leaned into them readily. "Well, I was born in 1168, some twenty years before the Third Crusade of King Richard and Ṣalāḥ ad-Dīn. My father was a well-respected man and merchant trader in charge of transporting caravans between cities. My mother died when I was a child, long before the Crusade. Even then I didn't really remember her all that well, so now she's more of a lingering shadow in my mind than a real memory. Perhaps it's for the best, though, considering she took her own life." Ezio started to console her, but she quickly continued.

"My father kept me busy with studies under my uncle's tutelage, something strictly prohibited to women at the time, but he was quite adamant. I never married, either, and where I come from, twenty-three is far too old to be without a husband. I wasn't in any real hurry to become any man's trophy but couldn't quite see the benefit of having to study while my father spent all his time away. I harbored him no ill will, though. We were solid as oak." She smiled when she remembered her father's loud, full laugh and his huge bronzed arms around her.

"In 1191, I saved the life of a man running from the law. A man dressed in a white hood." She winked dramatically at him. "Altaïr was caught snooping around the palace of a wealthy businessman, of sorts. I hid him in my room until the guards left but we met again in the market after he assassinated that very man, Abul Nuqoud. Later, I found out his deed was too slow to save my father when Abul poisoned all his guests."

He started to speak, but she pressed her fingers against his lips and smiled. "My father's been dead for nearly three hundred years. It no longer requires sympathies, love, but I don't wish to hang on. He's closer to Allah."

Ezio took her hand in his and kissed her palm then rested it comfortably on his knee. "I'm grateful for this, actually. This brings another tie between us, tesora mio."

She clutched his knee but continued. She told him everything, from her night with the man who saved her to the escape from Damascus and onto her amnesia. He listened without any further interruption, but his face said it all. His brows would furrow, his eyes might shift, his lips may tighten, but he never spoke. She preferred it that way because she was sure she would hold back some angle, some detail in hopes of protecting or salvaging herself. But uninterrupted, she gave him everything she had to tell. Everything she had to offer.

Somehow her life felt short-lived, however, when she came to a close in Firenze, 1476. He knew enough of the story from that point that she didn't elaborate beyond any questions he may ask. And judging by the pensive look on his face, they were banging on the door.

Akilah took a deep breath and tried not to wring her hands together at the full minute of silence that followed. "So…Ezio…I guess now that you've heard my overdramatized story, you've got a few questions…The daring details of the demise of the wretched Genghis Khan…What Lao Tzu was really like…Who actually killed Durante degli Alighieri."

He never smiled at her prodding but shook his head softly. "It must've been hard for you." She started to shrug until he added, "Seeing the man you love married to another woman."

It made her lungs cave, thinking about that very moment when Maria kissed him at the door. She had nearly drowned herself in her own tears.

"After all that searching, only to find he'd found happiness in your absence." He smirked at himself, clearly disgusted by the truth of his words. "Then watching after their descendants." He hissed, again at himself. "Constant reminders."

Akilah smiled and shook her head. "It's not like that anymore. I've come to accept the need for companionship and learned that one can love a person and unintentionally affection another without feeling any less love for the first." It was true. Her feelings for him were proof of that. "The difference is the current love continues to grow. It must if it expects to survive the struggles of marriage and family."

He wanted to say more about that concept, dig deeper into her perception, but hesitated and leaned on his thigh. "Did you ever tell him?"

This time, she sighed loudly and closed her eyes. The darkness pulled her further and further, deep into the sealed box in the most ancient, heavily guarded segment of her memories. A box where only the purist moments could hide and not be tampered with by the rest. Untainted.

"I left the clan for a short period to attend the affairs of Kublai Khan, Genghis Khan's grandson. When I came back, Altaïr was bedridden. I watched his condition for a while, but it only continued to get worse. I could feel his end was near, the same way one feels danger is close. So, one night, I went to see him…"

* * *

If she had not been spying on them for the past several decades, getting into the Brotherhood's camp may have proved difficult. Walking through the front was not as easy as it used to be, but she crawled through the desert sands like a land-savvy manta ray. The sky was cloudy that night, and she was perfectly sealed in her cover-and-squirm.

She slipped into the nearest tent and into the next undetected then dragged a soldier from his post and tucked him away. Carefully she maneuvered around the camp. It would not do to move quickly and risk notifying one of the guards. Many of this new order were amateurs—thrill seekers desperate for a chance to prove they could accomplish something—but they were still assassins trained by Altaïr, Malik, and the like. Best not to underestimate them.

Finally, in the center of the cluster, Altaïr's tent was dark and patrolled by four men. Hm.

"Utbah," grumbled one of the guards. "I've got to piss. Keep your eyes open, huh?" They swore at each other, but the man left.

She moved quickly to the rear, stationed between a front guard and the lone back coverage. In the flicker of the torch lights, she squirmed underneath and into the slumbering darkness.

Altaïr was awake and turned in her direction, but she was still perfectly in shadow. There was a sudden flick of light, and she squinted against the flame. He was sitting up in bed with a knife in hand and the burning powder in the other. He had gotten thin with small wrinkles in his leathery, sunburned skin that flattened out as he gawked at her. His eyes were still the same dark charcoal that flickered warmly in the blaze.

"Allah," he whispered softly. "You have smiled upon me this day. I could never pray for better proof of what lies beyond."

She smiled, crept toward the light, and sat slowly on the bedside. "This is no message from Allah, my love. I am real." She extended her hand, and he took it cautiously between his fingers. "I still live."

He smoothed each of her fingers down to the tips, lathered her hands between his, massaged her wrists then traced back the lines on her palms. He breathed weakly then sighed and pressed them against his chest. "But, you died. You drowned, I looked everywhere for you."

"I was rescued. But none of that matters now." She took his hands in hers and clutched them tightly. "I'm here as a final act of love. Fear not the darkness, assassin."

"It's not the darkness I fear." He coughed loudly then took a deep breath and leaned back against his pillows. "I fear the unknown."

She helped him prop upright against the fat cushions. "What do you mean? Allah awaits."

He shook his head. "I'm no longer certain. I've seen things that give me room to… doubt."

"Doubt how?"

He shook his head and pointed across the room. "In the drawer. I need," he coughed, "the drawer." His coughing turned into a fit, but she quickly pulled open the drawer and took out a small, clear stone dangling from a silver string. She took it to him, and he clamped his mouth shut in an attempt to kill his choking. He cupped her hands around the stone and fought the reflux. "Take it. For you." She furrowed her brow, and he took a calming breath. "I meant to give it to you then. When I returned." He choked again, and she helped him flatten back on the bed.

"Sleep. You need your rest." He shook his head, but she silenced him and massaged his chest. "I'll meet you there, love. Fear not." The coughing cleared, and he slowly drifted to sleep. "Whatever awaits."

* * *

Akilah flicked the stone between her fingers as it coldly dangled over her breasts. She smiled at nothing as her eyes drifted off to that place. "I stayed with him all night… and he was gone by the morning."

She had never recounted the story aloud and still kept the last secret to herself. He had given her more than a necklace. He entrusted her with something far more sacred. _Keep it safe_, he had told her. _Never use it._

"You must have loved him a great deal."

She blinked back to the present and blushed with a pleasant shrug. "He was a good man."

Ezio nodded, but something in his eyes was off putting. He was displeased. "Is that why you're helping me?" She tilted her head. "Do I remind you of him?"

She laughed out loud. It was not mocking or joking, but it was hysterical. "Of course not, no! Tesora mio, you two couldn't _be_ more different. Sure, you look a lot alike, but he was more the brooding, all work and no play kind of man. You don't even move the same way."

He pouted his lip, but his shoulders perked. "How do you mean?"

"Altaïr was the more cautious type. Get in, get it done, and get out. At least in later life. But you have a different style. You're faster, more creative, and _vastly_ over confident." He laughed, and she grinned. "You like being seen though not always in the spotlight. Danger is your forte, but you'd gladly pass if violence can be avoided. Sì?" He just smirked. "Altaïr was the opposite. He liked the quickest, safest route, no matter who stood in his way. As long as the mission was successful, and the Creed was upheld."

"The Creed?"

"The Creed of the Brotherhood," she intentionally said in a mystic tone. "One, never kill an innocent. The second, always be discreet. And finally, _never_ compromise the Brotherhood."

"They sound like a good set of rules."

"Oh they are, they are. They are the secret to assassins' survival over all these years."

"Is that right?"

"I would never lie," she winked.

He grinned then leaned toward her, positioning his hands on either side of her, and touched his nose against hers. "Why did you really come back? I know it wasn't just because of Uncle Mario, and if it's not for Altaïr, then why?"

She rolled her eyes and turned her head to laugh but quickly looked back at him, touching their noses again. "You are remarkably self-assured, aren't you?"

"Only when I want something."

"And your ego is _astounding_." She pushed against his chest and got up. "Come on, Ezio, this is no time for one of your games."

"Who's playing games?" He followed behind her and breathed hotly in her ear as his fingers slowly crept up her arm. "Ti adoro, tesoro mio." His lips made chilling contact with her shoulder, and she angled her neck as they moved along to the crook between the two. "Pazzo di te." They had moved up to her ear now, and his hands squeezed her shoulders tenderly. "Solo tu. Per sempre." (I adore you) (I'm crazy for you) (Only you. Forever)

Akilah bit her lip and spun around, stepping an arm's length from him. "Persuasive words, Messer. But I think you've had plenty of comfort and succor for one night, don't you?"

"Without you, no one is ever enough."

He stepped closer, and she quickly moved away. "Stop, Ezio."

"Stop what?" He was still moving toward her as she maneuvered around the table.

"I'm not ready for this."

"'This'?" he repeated amusedly. "I remember you being quite ready before."

"Don't." She was cornered, and he leaned over her with both arms positioned over her. "Stop it, I can't—"

"But you can," he grinned. "Quite well, if memory serves."

"Stop!" she yelled and shoved him back several feet. "Just stop! Stop it, all right! Quit!"

He held up his hands defensively then scoffed. "Stop _what_, Akilah, I haven't done anything yet!"

"This! Stop this, all this!" She waved her hand loosely at him. "Everything you are right now, stop! I can't deal with this, damnit!"

"_Deal—with—WHAT_?" he demanded impatiently. "What am I doing?"

"Making me feel for you, stronzo! I can't deal with-with your Uncle Mario and Templars and puttanas _and_ you, okay? I can't ignore everything that makes me think of you if you keep doing this, I just can't! Please, just leave me alone!"

"What're you talking about? You can't just pretend I don't exist because you can't accept your feelings for me!"

"I can accept them, and I have, that's not the problem!"

"Then what?"

"What do you think?" She threw her hand into the air, her face flustering with the anger and embarrassment rising in her blood. "You have whores upstairs! Whores that are surely tired out by now thanks to your drive for passion, Ezio Auditore. And I have no desire to think of them with you, or you happily substituting them for _me_! How can anyone do that? Don't ask me to do that, Ezio, don't ever ask me to—"

He grabbed her face and slammed her back against the wall, driving through her resistant hands and ramming his lips down against hers. She had been afraid of this moment, dreading it with every ounce of will in her body. Now that it was here, she trembled beneath her tears and beat them against him as his body pinned her down and his mouth fought against her resistance. Oh Allah, this moment had finally come. She wasn't ready, she wasn't ready!

She finally managed to tear her lips away and pounded on his biceps. "Let me go, don't touch me like some meretrice!" (prostitute)

"I didn't do it—"

"Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me, Goddamnit!"

"I didn't do it, Akilah! I didn't sleep with them!"

"Don't touch me! Don't touch…Don't…" She trailed off as her resistance ceased and gazed questioningly up him. "You…You didn't…?"

"How could I?" he asked desperately and cupped her face again in his large hands. "Since you came back, I can't even see other women. I can flirt and charm my way like always, but I no longer feel the intrigue, Akilah. Io ho occhi solo per te, mi tesora. Ever since I was a boy, I've thought of you. Ever since those months at Monteriggioni, I see you everywhere. And since the moment I touched you, I've needed you." (I only have eyes for you)

He grabbed her shoulders and lowered to one pleading knee. "Tu sei sempre nel mio cuore, just tell me what I have to do to prove it to you and I'll do it. Tu sei mia stella, le tue parole sono musica per le mie orecchie. Sono pazzo di te, tesoro mio, ho bisogno di te—" (You are always in my heart) (You are my star, your words are music in my ear. I am crazy about you, my darling, I need you)

Akilah dropped down and flung her arms around his neck, kissing him wildly. His hands clung to her back as he pulled her against his body. "Ti penso sempre," he continued between their breaths. "Tu mi completi, Akilah—" (I always think of you) (You complete me)

"Hush, darling." She licked the roof of his mouth, and he pulled her up off the floor toward the door. Her nails clawed against his strong back and shoulders as they stumbled their way out of the kitchen, through the front of the building, and to the stairs, kissing frantically all the while. Her foot slipped on the third step, and she laughed as they fumbled for balance.

He grinned down at her then scooped her up and carried her up the stairs. "Voglio vederti stasera." She giggled against his throat and flicked her nails over his ears as he opened the door to his room. Sure enough, it was completely empty, and the sheets were barely ruffled. He tossed her onto them with a squeal then walked back to the door and locked it. His grin was devilish. "Voglio baciare il tuo corpo nudo." (I want to see you tonight) (I want ti kiss your naked body)

She deliberately leaned low and winked at him. "Vieni qui e baciami." (Come here and kiss me)

He was across the room in a blink, and she squealed again as he hauled her further onto the bed with him.

* * *

Her spine tingled as his supple fingers glided along it, followed closely by his sweet kisses before coming up and gently smoothing her shoulders under his lips. She lay on her stomach cuddling a pillow and smiling sideways at him as he propped himself on his elbow and rubbed her back. It had been so long since their last night together, she had almost forgotten how beautiful he looked in the fading moonlight.

"What're you thinking?" he asked with a lopsided grin.

She took a deep breath then sighed with a bigger smile. "How much I missed you."

His grin widened. "Really?" He cupped the back of her head affectionately then brushed the hair from her eyes. "I'm glad."

She giggled and rolled onto her side, draping one arm over his waist and scooting closer as she kept the other tucked firmly beneath the pillow. "It feels different this time, somehow. I feel more…" She thought a moment then shrugged uncertainly. "I don't know, giddy. Like a young girl again."

He chuckled and traced the angles of her face. "You, mi amore, are all woman, I can assure you." He kissed the end of her nose then her lips and beamed. "But your giddiness overwhelms me, woman or girl." He kissed her smile and tasted her mouth as she dug her fingers into him, pulling him closer until he laughed and drew back. "Why didn't you ever marry?"

Akilah quirked a surprised but playful eyebrow. "Who says I never married?"

He wasn't baited by her mischievousness. "You strike me as the sort to marry for love."

She shrugged and leaned back from him, spreading her arms across the pillows as she stared smugly at the ceiling. "I've been married before. Dozens of times."

He scoffed unconvinced. "Dozens of times?"

"Easily," she nodded then passed him a grin. "The longest one lasted a week. My husbands had a rather mysterious knack for winding up dead." She shrugged innocently. "I don't know how I could've had such rotten luck!"

He laughed, tucked his arm around her waist, and rested his head on her breasts. She hugged him to her chest and stroked his loose hair. "How unfortunate for you."

"More for them, I dare say. Even if they hadn't been bastards, I can't bear children, so their puny line would've ended with them." She paused and furrowed her brow contemplatively. "Hm. Not a bad idea, actually."

"The sin of men, tesora mio, is that if they can't find love at home, they will find it somewhere else."

"You speak true words of wisdom, Messer." Then she grabbed both sides of his face and lifted it to hers. "And why didn't _you_ ever marry?"

He scoffed and pulled back from her onto his elbow. "Do I seem like the marrying type to you?"

"Yes," she nodded sincerely. "You do."

He fidgeted under her directness then shrugged. "I guess, I just haven't found someone yet."

"Miserabili pezzo di merda," she chastised and smacked his chest with the back of her hand. "Are you trying to tell me you've never loved a woman?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Love is not the issue. I pride myself on my ability love, grazie, and many have loved me. But if I were to marry, it would have to be for much more than love."

"Oh?" She lifted her eyebrows with intrigue and rolled onto her side again, snuggling into her pillow with bated breath. "Others marry in hopes of finding love, yet you insist there be _more_? Do tell."

He shrugged awkwardly then outlined her frame beneath his fingertips. "Loving someone is easy enough to do. I've done my fair share in the past and loved them all in my way. But to marry someone, I have to be willing to see that person every day, for the rest of my life. Commit my time and earnings to her, forgo my life in exchange for hers. I must entrust that life to her. I cannot simply love her, I must love _only_ her, every second of every day, into the depths of eternity." His hand flattened against the small of her back, and he met her gaze. "I haven't found that. Not yet."

Akilah smiled encouragingly as she trailed her nails over his torso then kissed his Adam's apple. "That's why we marry for money. It makes marital imperfections suddenly quite bearable."

"Akilah." He cupped the nap of her neck firmly in his hand and stared seriously into her eyes. "If you marry again, let it be for love alone. Let yourself love him, so that he may love and cherish you as you deserve. With or without children, he will love you no less. He'll love you more, until his last breath, he will love you."

"But you said love is not—"

"You won't be able to love him until your dying day. The love would only become a burden, as it has for all these years. In your next love, promise me you will let yourself experience it for all its worth. No hiding, no secrets. Love must rule without rules. Capito?"

She was surprised. His moments of seriousness were rare outside of a mission, and his genuine urgency now touched her more than she wanted to admit. But in compliance, she let her eyes tear up just the slightest bit. "You know, Dante Alighieri once said to me, 'Heaven wheels above you, displaying to you her eternal glories, and still your eyes are on the ground.' And I told him he was a romantic fool." She caressed his face. "But now, I think I'm starting to see."

He gripped her hand in his, and she rose up and pressed her mouth over his. She pushed him onto his back and deepened the kiss as his hands swam through her black tendrils.

Then he held her back. "Let's go somewhere tomorrow."

She couldn't help stitching her eyebrows together. "What?"

"Let's go somewhere tomorrow," he repeated, eyes already roaming with ideas far removed from the room.

"And do what, exactly?" Where did people go for these sorts of affairs? She strategically attended parties and celebrations, wandered through festivals of her own accord, and allowed the spell of romance to ensnare her or her prey. Never had she gone somewhere simply for the fun of it in the company of another.

"This is Venezia, Madonna," he grinned. "Everything is ideal." He started to kiss her then dropped his head again, examining her perplexed face. "Dress appropriately."

Now her lip pouted severely as she considered his words. "Appropriately how?"

His grin widened, and he cupped her neck. "I intend to court you tomorrow." Then he kissed her, soft and smooth the way a woman always wishes her first kiss to begin.

How did one dress for a courtship, anyway?

* * *

When she woke the next morning, the space beside her was empty, occupied instead by a single piece of paper beneath a gray-brown eagle feather. She tucked the feather into her hair and read the thin, sketchy writing: Our courtship begins at noon. She smiled and hopped out of bed, swiping her pants and shirt from the floor and dressing quickly. She had a little over two hours, and there was a great deal of assistance she would be seeking to get herself ready for Ezio. It had been a long time since she had done herself up, but courtship was a whole new battlefield.

A fashion challenge was vital to a girl's integrity.

* * *

If anyone wanted the absolute best, absolute most successful-wooing, and absolute thriftiest fashion in Italia, they came to Venezia in search of the greatest faceless ensemble master: Mariano Lombardi. He rarely made public appearances himself and often saw his clients once then designed their concepts in solitude, but his masterpieces frequented rich wives, ambassadors, and rising politicians, as well as the common peasant girl eager to turn her fancy's head. He never stayed anywhere long, but everyone knew Venezia was his hub.

Luckily for her, she had struck Mariano's artistic fancy in a brief visit through Napoli, and he confided more than a few of his favorite hiding places, should she yearn to grace him with her presence once more. Which led her into the darkest corner of Southwest Venezia, dotting the edge of the Dorsoduro District and the open sea, yet somehow set apart from the hustle and bustle of ends meat and artistic mayhem.

With a quick glance over her shoulder, she knocked once on the solid mahogany door then turned the knob and stepped inside. The tall, narrow structure opened instantly to an equally slim staircase that rose amidst the floors, visible through the hollow center of the establishment that stretched up to the three-story ceiling. The lobby and balconies were littered with fabrics of every size, shape, and color, some tossed loosely in a heap, others clinging awkwardly to manikins, and still others sprawled out in mid-stitch. Shoes, hats, bags, jewelry, frills, silk, velvet, lace, trim, wool, fur, satin, cotton, and every other outfit necessity could be spotted from the doorway.

More distinctly, the harem of giddy women stitching and weaving, fluffing and crocheting, caught her off guard. No one stopped to notice her, and Akilah got the impression she truly was invisible. Who else would know where to find the great Mariano Lombardi except other seamstresses and special clients?

She quirked a high eyebrow and stepped forward, only to get a face-full of poof as a woman hurried by carrying an enormous dress. She swatted at it then rubbed the end of her nose.

"By my stars in Heaven, can it be?"

Akilah swiveled her head to the right, and, standing in the farther corner, a man with the blondest hair in the known world opened his meaty long arms and grinned, pulling his full beard practically over his eyes. He dressed in a soft blue tunic and dark gray britches, but the trademark russet hat matched his warm brown eyes, though not his pale ponytail.

He strode through the tornado of women and fabric, arms still wide and boots heavy on the floor. "Madonna de Luca! Come sei bella!" Then his bulky arms locked around with a squeeze, and she crossed her eyes in breathless surprise.

Thankfully, she was free almost as quickly and forced an awkward smile. "Bene trovato, Messer Mariano. It's been a while."

"Ah, but look at you!" he beamed, backing away to observe her more fully. "As magical as ever, su altezza, ti adoro!"

She laughed and nodded appreciatively. "Grazie, my friend. But I'm afraid I didn't come here to catch up. I need a dress."

He cocked his head curiously and stroked his chin with his middle and index fingers. "A dress? In all this time, you've never asked me for clothes, Madonna. What's the occasion?"

She let herself smile giddily but kept her voice smooth. "I have a date."

His mouth dropped, and he inhaled long and loud. "A _date_?"

"Sì, Messer. With the man of my most godlike sinful dreams." She wiggled her eyebrows, and he grinned wickedly.

"Ah, l'amore mantiene giovani! Is this date the beginning of the swaray, or the end of child's play and moving on to more proposal-worthy material?" (The heart that loves is always young)

She couldn't help it. Mariano's own over-excitement was contagious. "It's a first date, but certainly not our first outing together."

"A change in feelings then, wonderful! When is the date?"

"He's expecting me at noon."

He squealed, and not a pleasant one. His face was appalled, and he nearly swallowed up all the air with how far his mouth hung open. "_NOON_? Well then merda, come come, we have _no time_ to waste!" His fingers snared her wrist, and he dragged her up the stairs without letting her catch her bearings.

She was certain her goal was left in good hands, but her mind forgot how crazy Mariano could be.

* * *

Akilah checked herself for the forty-seventh time in Teodora's full-length mirror. Her reflection still pleased her, thought it did little to settle her nerves. Just because she liked it didn't mean Ezio would. It had been a long time since the flutters of aiming to sincerely please someone messed with her senses. It was ten after noon, but her anxiety would not let her exit the room. Did she really look all right? Was this too plain? Would Ezio be satisfied?

Mariano had a way of bringing out the absolute best in everyone without drowning them in beautiful garments. He designed outfits to accent people, not provide elegant costumes. He wanted to revolutionize, not transform his clients, and, as usual, her outfit did just that.

The dress was sweet lavender that barely hung around her shoulders, exposing hollow collarbones and a long neck, every inch of skin bronzed in a notably foreign hew. It wasn't frilly or lacy but simple cotton that poofed just enough around her legs and hugged her stomach and chest nicely, yet modestly. She was particularly fond of the white ribbon holding her middle tight and traipsing down the back near her calves. Her hair was completely free except for the delicate pins keeping it pulled back from her ears. Some of the courtesans had graced her with a little eye liner, but otherwise she only decorated herself with her stone necklace, adjusted to sit perfectly above her chest hemline.

Her absolute favorite part of the concept, however, was the lavender slippers. She had not worn slippers since she was a little girl and long forgotten how comfortable and playful they were. She gave a small skip for good measure then took an extremely deep breath, spun on the door, and marched across the room. Grabbing hold of the knob, she exhaled, calmly pulled open the door, and stepped out.

Ezio stood at the bottom of the stairs, leaning against the wall with arms crossed and observing the passersby in the window opposite the staircase. The assassin white was void from his dress, replaced by black trousers and a crisp linen shirt beneath a dark gray vest brilliantly decorated in silver designs. She had seen the look before, back in Firenze, before his life as an assassin. Before her.

She admired the way the britches clung to his calves and shamelessly observed the nice curve of his buttocks. It wasn't like the observation was a first, but looking at it now made her giggle.

He looked up then and pushed off the wall, dropping his arms and gawking just the slightest bit at her. He appeared pleasantly surprised, and she grinned wider when his eyes shamelessly observed her as well. She had done right to pay Mariano more than he propositioned—the results were worth every penny.

She took another deep breath, quiet and slow, and began her descent. "My apologies. I was tending to some last minute touch-ups."

He scoffed, mouth still ajar and eyes still satisfyingly flabbergasted. "By all means, Madonna, every second is exceedingly worth the wait." She felt herself blush down to her fingertips, but his smile let her keep breathing. "You look miraculous, amore mio. Sei bello." (You are beautiful)

She let her chest rise appreciatively. "Really? I hoped you would like it, I—"

At the last step, he snaked his arm around her waist and yanked her down, tripping up her feet and bringing her crashing against his body. Her arms instinctively swung around his shoulders, and her head swooned as his lips stole her breath away. It was smooth and slow, massaging all pleasure and happiness across her tongue and down her throat straight into her pounding heart.

There were giggles to her left, and she smiled against his mouth as the courtesans watched from the other side of the room. He pulled back, and they grinned at one another. "You must be hungry by now. Shall we?" He stepped away and extended his elbow, and she took it with an exaggerated raise of her chin.

"Lead the way, maestro. I do believe I'm too famished to walk on my own." He led her to the door with a chuckle, and the girls grinned and waved supportively as they stepped outside into the Venetian afternoon.

It was impressive, really, the way a man could take a wonderfully carefree moment, however, and turn it into a barrel of sour grapes. As soon as the door closed behind them, he turned her to face him, and the guilty expression on his face told her she had no desire to hear what he was about to say.

"There's something I must tell you before we go." His voice was grave but repenting. "I don't want any secrets between us anymore."

Akilah tried not to show her lack of desire for a confession. "Yes?"

He took a deep breath, shoulders rising and chin lowering as he gathered the words. Her own body tensed as he opened his mouth. "I saw Cristina at Carnevale."

She blinked once. "So?"

He blinked twice and dropped his arms, shuffling awkwardly. "Well, it had been so long since I'd seen her, I admit the temptation was overwhelming."

Her eyebrows perked, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "_Oh_?"

There was a subtle blush at his cheeks but he kept his eyes averted embarrassedly. A person was never embarrassed to admit the truth unless they cared what the listener thought. "I let her think I was her husband. We kissed."

Somehow, it didn't hurt to hear. Maybe it was his humble profession, or perhaps the nights they spent together. Probably the newfound openness between them, as they both pulverized that irritating barrier. But he needn't know that.

She licked the back of her teeth noticeably and rolled her eyes to another point on the street. "So what you said last night was a lie." She could tell his brow was creased. "You have been able to see other women _quite clearly_ since my return."

"No!" he quickly protested and clutched her arms, forcing her to meet his gaze again. His eyes were urgent, but his voice was firm. "I saw her before I knew you were here. I missed her; I was intrigued; I was lonely. She was from a time when things were simpler, and I loved her. I was tempted by that life from before, but that life is gone, like Cristina, and I can't go back to it." His hands came to her face then, and she couldn't help losing her composure under those charcoal eyes. "I don't want a life without you."

Ah, if only it were a matter of wanting. She wanted to grow old with him, have a family of her own; be buried by her children and their children. She wanted gray hair and respect for her years. She wanted to love him, without hesitation or restriction—without fear.

She sighed and smiled then sat her hands on his chest and pecked his lips. His eyes fluttered but remained concernedly on her, and she smiled wider. "First loves never fade, tesoro mio. All one can do is love the next with greater abundance."

He ran his fingers through her hair and squeezed her shoulder. His gaze gentled, and she knew he was at ease again. "Ricevo un bacio?" (Do I get a kiss?)

She grinned, and he leaned down to kiss her softly. Then he stuck his elbow out again and beamed. She giggled and took his arm. "To wooing!"

* * *

If Akilah could possibly fathom the absolute perfect partner for a wooing, Ezio Auditore would assuredly be number one. Every laughter he tossed, every word he confessed from his open kisses to his impeccable manners, he made them the apple of everyone's envious eyes. She let them stare—she wanted them to.

Like he suggested, Ezio took her to eat first. The restaurant was a small but apparently popular gazebo with friendly waitresses and joyful musicians weaving throughout the tables like cupids. Akilah even found the impulse to join in a dance with one of the minstrels as he plucked away at his fiddle and sang merrily about the raven-haired woman who stole the hearts of Venezia with her smile.

The abundance of Venezia opened its doors to them, it seemed. She loved shopping, always had, but seldom procured the time to pursue such ambitions. Now, she stopped in nearly every store along the way to the theatre and deposited a small florin to nearly every keeper, even if it was only for a hairpin or ribbon.

She had never seen or heard of Plautus' "Menaechmi," but the complications of plot maintained curiosity. Twin brothers are separated at a young age when one is abducted during a trip with his father. Years later, the remaining brother goes out in search of his lost sibling, but things get a little fumbled up when people mistake one for the other—which, quite frankly, made her laugh a bit more than she was probably expected. Eventually, as all good plays should end, everything came together, and they lived on well. She hated stories with sad endings, and unearned endings left a bitter taste in her mouth. "Menaechmi," however, earned a round of applause.

They talked more than she believed she ever talked in her life. Now that the truth stood freely between them, he confessed a million questions. Her adventures over the years, who she met, the line of his ancestors, the fate of the martyrs, the revolution of art, the evolution of language, the shift of politics, the manipulation of religion. Every topic, every name interested him, and she gladly spoke of all she could recall. Even in her years, she gladly maintained a proficient memory inventory of her life. It was a pleasant change to recant her stories aloud rather than remembering them in her dreams.

Conversation only came to a lull when the moon sat high and the lanterns glowed like lightning bugs. The day wore thin, and their excitement calmed to a pleasant stillness as they floated through the whispering canals aboard a gondola. She admired the passersby and narrow channels as he watched her with chin in palm while leaning opposite her.

"Tell me about my father," he spoke suddenly, smile still gentle on his lips. "What was he like before?"

"A natural mischief maker," she answered honestly, and his grin made her laugh. "A common family trait, really. Giovanni had a certain elegance about him, an overwhelming agreeableness. Everyone trusted him; everyone knew he was an honest and reliable man, despite his sometimes questionable personal affairs. He didn't become such, really though, until his training was put to good use." She added the last with a certain note of amusement that sounded as proud as she felt the night he left in ancestral white.

"Did you know him well?"

She shrugged. "I knew him well for what little personal interaction we had. I was his contact for a time but soon found it best if I departed for other affairs. When I was certain he was ready."

Ezio leaned into his elbow and looked down at the smooth wake. His eyes were lost somewhere, and a bittersweet smile tugged the ends of his lips. "It seems like so long ago. Ten years, and I feel no more satiated."

She understood. Sense of purpose left a confused mind time to configure the puzzle of a torn heart. An assassin needed a higher purpose, but a man needed something tangible. He needed proof, results—revenge. The necessity never really dissipated over time. It would get shuffled behind other affairs on occasion, but it always crawled its way back to the surface. It kept a broken spirit moving.

"You'll find what you're looking for, Ezio," she encouraged, and reached forward and squeezed his hand. His eyes returned to her, and he was back with her in the present. "What you seek is still uncertain, but when you are ready, it will reveal itself to you."

He glanced down at her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "How can you be sure? What if it's too late?" He looked up. "Not everyone has the guarantee of time."

She stretched both hands up now and cupped his face, bringing him forward and nearly touching her nose. "It's never too late, Ezio. As long as you live, it's never too late to act." She was living proof of that. Every choice she made came too late, but still she chose to keep on. She could not save her uncle, Al Mualim challenged her, Altaïr thought her a ghost—hell, Rodrigo Borgia lived because she failed to act when the time was ready. Giovanni was dead.

But it was not about the mistakes. It was about the will to act. Tadmur had taught her that much.

"Even time ages, Ezio. I may not change on the outside, but I am no less human underneath." She smiled. "We're all in search of our own answers."

Ezio pulled her into his arms and kissed her, slipping her out of memories and into the intoxicating realm of his affection. His mouth tasted wonderful, and she wished it could be captured in a bottle of wine for tasting whenever she pleased.

Wine didn't even compare. Wine would age and grow sweeter and finer over time. His kisses wouldn't. They would always be perfect, exactly the same as he was always capable, yet different each time. In her mind, they would never age.

They would never—ever—die.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

For a place only recently vacated by a murdered tenant, it was disturbingly easy to infiltrate. Guards patrolled the main entrances, and a few stood their post on the high balconies, but the roof was nearly empty. There were two archers, exactly opposite each other on the main ledges, and clearly separated by an entire courtyard of distance. With so little abuzz thanks to the timely demise of Marco codardo Barbarigo, Akilah almost felt bad creeping around the palazzo unnoticed.

Almost.

She peeked into an open window then silently vaulted over the sill and landed in a crouch on the wooden floor. It was fun to slink about barefoot, like the early days of learning, and the solid panels remained quiet in agreement. The office was empty and neat with a blood red carpet sprawled across the middle of the floor, matching the cherry oak furniture and velvet curtains. Honestly, it was stuffy and underdressed.

Akilah slinked behind the desk cattycorner from the window and opened each drawer. Political documents, unfinished letters, blank letterhead, fresh inks and quills, some strange candy that tasted a little like crème, box of gold coins, nicely polished jewels, a truly hideous hat big enough to fit a whale's cranium, some knitting remnants, two vials of healing ointment, a turtle shell nicely preserved in a very small glass case, night slippers, and—

She yanked out the heavily wrinkled bound leather and skimmed through the first few paragraphs of the mound of papers. Allah, this was it. Them. Those bastards, that cursed demon left to haunt her nightmares on those weak nights when past was all that consumed her. Fucking Rodrigo Borgia, he was behind it! She clutched one page tightly in her hand and felt the ink stick to her fist.

_He_ put her in that prison. _He_ arranged for her endless days, every moment for three whole years.

She tied the book to her belt, tucked away the ointment, and pocketed the treats before closing the drawers. Then she blinked and spied a sealed envelope wedged between a paperweight and row of books on the edge of the desk.

Then there was a creak at the door, and she swiped it with a duck closer to the floor. A maid entered the room and sat several dusters and clothes on the back of the daybed. By the time she faced the desk, Akilah hopped the windowsill.

* * *

"Leonardo!" Akilah kicked the door shut and pulled the parcel off her waist. "Leonardo! Are you here?" She took the pages out of the fine leather and dumped them in a heap on the blazing fireplace. "Leona—"

"Yes, yes, here I am!" He descended the steps in a flurry, straightening his cap as the buttons of his tunic still hung halfway open. She raised a suspicious eyebrow, but he smiled innocently and held his arms open. "Insegnante, how can I be of service?" (teacher)

Akilah checked his unlaced boots, over his untucked shirt, and up to his untidy hair before meeting his eyes. "It seems you're already being of service, allievo. Who is the daring puttana, hm?" (student)

"Er," was all he could manage on the spot, but she laughed.

"I'm only joking, Leonardo. Ignorance is bliss in these instances."

His chest dropped with relief, and a calmer smile took his face. "What do you need, Akilah?"

"I have something I'd like you to take a look at, when you have the time." She pulled the envelope from her pocket and handed it over. "I found it in Marco Barbarigos office, but it's encrypted. It wasn't open yet when I commandeered it."

His sideways smirk showed what he thought of her "commandeering" methods. He snapped open the single page document and skimmed through the lines of black ink. "Hm. I've never seen a code quite like this one. It'll take some time without the cipher."

"You'll look into then?"

"Certainly, but I wouldn't put much stock in whatever it may contain. Its contents will probably be obsolete by the time I decode it."

"Nevertheless potential information for later purposes. Keep me informed, hm?"

"Of course." He folded the paper then tucked it and the envelope into a thick book over the fireplace. "I'll keep it safe. In the meantime, perhaps you should head over to the Seta. Ezio's already left to meet with the new Doge, Agostino Barbarigo."

She didn't know much about Agostino, other than he and Marco had no particular liking for one another. Hopefully, that meant the surviving brother wouldn't be repeating certain mistakes. Whatever he may be like, Ezio departed their escape at Teodora's to meet this Agostino. He was a face worth knowing.

"An excellent idea, as usual. Enjoy the rest of your uh," she made a suggestive glance at the stairs, "evening." Leonardo blushed but waved her off, and she pulled up her hood as she stepped back out into the street.

* * *

It was beautiful country. Alive and untamed, appearing vast for its size. The trees grew tall enough to twirl the stars with their tips, but the eternal whisper of the shores put the island natives abuzz. Insect sounds rose higher than the sky itself, and the hard earth seemed to move with her as she pushed through the last of the forest and inhaled deeply of the Mediterranean. Almost a sweet smell.

The ship sat just off shore, and the lifeboat waited patiently for her return to the cove edge. Long and hard she considered the location. Long and hard she followed it to this place. Now, with a great deal of luck, it would lay at rest through generations. Cyprus had not been her idea, but she saw to it that the Apple reached the gentle shores.

She marched through the wet sands toward the lifeboat then pushed the craft out to sea. Taking a quick leap, she hoisted herself inside and picked up an oar.

"It's here!"

She spun instantly, eyes raking the shoreline for a sign of life. But it was vacant.

"Quickly, give it to me! The Spaniard won't wait a moment longer!"

She turned completely now and grabbed the sides of the boat. The voices were so clear against her ears, but she was more than forty feet from the tree line, and still no one appeared amidst the sands.

"We've got it! We have the Apple!"

No! She tensed and spun about to row back to shore.

Only there were no oars. There was no ship in the distance, no water around her. She was somewhere else altogether, a place familiar and yet remarkably different. A deserted village surrounded by antique architecture and overlooked by a villa high on the hill—a dilapidated thing, set amidst strange lights and ropes like none she ever laid eyes on.

But it was an abstract observation. As she faced Monteriggioni, another face shifted to meet her. He, too, was familiar, although she was positive she never laid eyes on him in her life. His face held youth, his dark hair sat close to his scalp, and he wore trousers and some sort of coat the likes of which she had never seen in all her travels. No, she definitely never knew this man, no matter how intently he stared at her.

Even when he could not see her, but stared still. Stared with eyes she knew well. Ezio's nose; Altair's lips, and that pale scar in the corner of his mouth. She did _not_ know this man. But she knew his ancestry. Knew it well.

Would he reach out to her? No, he couldn't see her. Could he? If this were a dream, it would be impossible. Another premonition? It had been so long, she forgot what they felt like. Could others in a vision see her? Al Mualim had. But they shared time. This man didn't. He was somewhere else, somewhat far from her and—

"Desmond!" someone beckoned, and the man snapped his eyes away.

The break dispelled the scene around them, and he was gone with the town. In his place, she blinked into two dark brown eyes. Eyes she knew very well, along with the face that housed them. His hands sat on her shoulders, and his head ducked to get a better look at her drowsy face. She had fallen asleep atop the hallway banister overlooking the Seta courtyard, but it came back to her now as he gently shook her.

"Akilah?" Ezio said, and she guessed it was for at least the fifth time. "Are you all right?"

Akilah took in a deep breath, pushing the strange dream out of her mind, and smiled. "Sorry. Did I doze off?"

His mouth tucked in, and he dropped his hands. "You could have fallen while you slept. It's not a small trip either, I don't think I need to remind you."

"People of our nature are experts at sleeping anywhere, are we not?" He conceded the matter with a loose nod, and she slipped off the banister. "I came to see this new Doge of yours."

Ezio's eyes moved across the courtyard to the opposing balcony, and she followed them. Agostino was not a small man by any standards. Perhaps it was Marco's long hair and high collar, but somehow Agostino seemed much larger than his brother. Short but high shoulders kept his stance strong, and his long beard and ivory hair left a dark wisdom in his eyes as he conversed with Antonio. She could sum him up, but her mind actually rejected the instinct. Instead, she focused on how rather huge even his ears were.

She snorted. "I was hoping for someone younger."

"The greater the years, the greater the wisdom," he added, and she let herself smile at his obvious tease.

"The greater the experience, the greater the wisdom. Aged leaders can often be the most jaded. I think it best to keep a wary eye on him." It was not that she mistrusted the man. Time taught her that every person was guilty until proven innocent.

"Are you all right?"

She blinked and looked at him again, where his dark eyes observed her with soft concern. She squeezed his forearm gently, and he brushed it aside to return the touch on her waist. She smiled when her head tilted back to maintain his gaze as her feet stepped closer. "I'm fine. Just thoughtful."

He had more to say, more to ask, but withheld it with a subtle smile of his own. "Shall I introduce you?"

Akilah smirked and stepped back, pulling herself out of his hold, and he let his hands release her. She leaned into the balcony corner, her face concealed from the figures beyond. "I think it best if I keep a low profile on this one, mm?" Even though she had enjoyed it, they had made a bit of a spectacle of themselves on that day out. People on the streets still recognized her when she pulled away the scarlet hood, and some were even bold enough to come up and speak to her. They were all seemingly innocent in their playfulness, but it served little good to become too much the topic of gossip.

Ezio stepped closer, gently clasped her elbows, and pulled her back into the streaming sunlight. He smiled down at her curious eyes. "I think it's time you stepped out of the shadows, amore mio."

"Oh?" Her eyebrow quirked. "I thought it an assassin's way to work in the shadows?"

"In certain situations, of course," he agreed then held up his index finger between them. "_But_, times have changed. A proper assassin must learn to mingle openly with the people. Become one with the crowd. Only in the acquiring of many allies for the people will he, or she," he added with a curt nod, "be a truly successful member of the Brotherhood."

He had a point. Their years apart taught him many ways to make his point logically and convincingly. This, too, was a powerful asset to an assassin. Still, she made a scrunched face, and he grinned at her annoyed acceptance of his logic.

"Did you not tell me a rule of the Brotherhood is to hide in plain sight?"

Now she laughed and nodded loosely. "All right, all right, you win. Let us meet the pistolino." (prick)

He extended his elbow, and she took it and let him lead her around the palazzo to the dim room just off the staircase. Antonio and Agostino stood at her arrival, and Ezio put his hand to her back as they stopped beside some chairs. "Illustrissimo, allow me to introduce Akilah Sharif, a close friend of my family and powerful ally to our cause." (Doge)

Akilah bowed her head, and Agostino returned the gesture with a hand over his heart. "The Lady of the Sands." Ick, were people really calling her that? "Ë un onore far la vostra conoscenza," he greeted, and she felt the need to point out how less impressive his speaking voice was from his brother's. (It's an honor to make your acquaintance)

But she didn't. "L'onore ë mio." (The honor is mine)

"Come," Antonio invited, motioning to the seats. "We have much to discuss. Sit."

Agostino sat with his back to the window, and Akilah took the spot across from him. Once they all sat, any attention given her was completely lost as Antonio started in, "We've located Silvio Barbarigo for you." His head ducked off, and the pride in his voice dwindled. "He's fled into l'Arsenale."

"Hah!" Agostino scoffed. "_Fled_?" His eyes shifted to Ezio. "You mean occupied. And joined by two hundred mercenari, no less."

"You're Doge now," Ezio countered. "Can't you command them to stand down?"

"The committee of forty-one has yet to confirm my ascension," replied Agostino with clear impatience at his own words. "And this little stunt of Silvio's has only made things worse. He has an entire army at his command!"

Ezio clutched his hands into fists and leaned forward in his seat. "Then help me to raise my own."

"I figured you'd say as much," Antonio added with a hint of amusement. "Bartolomeo d'Alviano is the man you seek." Bartolomeo. She had never met the man personally, but his exploits preceded him. From what she gathered, he was spirited and courageous, if not stubborn and crazy. Perhaps not a clever man, but vigilant. "He and his men have little love for Silvio. He resides within the military district, southwest of l'Arsenale."

"Va bene." Ezio stood, and Akilah followed suit. "I'll go and see him." They started to leave when Antonio spoke up.

"Akilah." They both turned back, and Antonio set one hand on his waist. "If I may, I'd like to discuss something with you before you go."

Antonio was a proven ally; his trust was not in question. His intentions, however, were suspicious. They never shared much interest in one another since her arrival in Venezia, and at no point had he made any indication he considered her part of their little group. If he wished to speak to her, she very much doubted it was good news.

Still, she glanced at Ezio. "Go. I'll catch up." Ezio hesitated, questioning her eyes without any change in his own expression, but her nod set him off down the stairs.

Antonio came to her side and motioned her forward. "Please, walk with me." Not only a talk, but a walk. It must be of interest. "I have many contacts in various cities, and much talk has been stirred since your arrival in Venezia." She was not sure if this was developing into a lecture or not. "Perhaps it would be best if you settled matters elsewhere."

Not a lecture, then. "I don't see how that's any concern of yours."

He shrugged and pulled an envelope from his jacket. "You're the world traveler. If you expect to be of any use to Ezio, it would do you well to spend more time filtering out threats rather than snapping at his heels, don't you think?" Her eyes narrowed, and he handed her the envelope with a smirk and walked away.

Of course. He wanted her out of the way, away from the possibility of distraction from the mission. It was halfway a compliment. He could see how attached they were to each other and suspected Ezio might make an error on her behalf. For a thief, Antonio lacked real faith in those outside society.

She slit open the envelope and snapped out the roughly folded parchment. She was surprised to see Mario's penmanship and hurried through the contents before snapping her eyes up to find Antonio, but he was gone.

Cyprus.

* * *

She never liked the military district. The buildings stood drearily, the people spoke gruffly, manners lacked, and tensions always rose high, none more so than between two total strangers. There was nothing to like about it, other than its resourcefulness for information and munitions. That satisfied most, but she preferred otherwise. Still, it was ideal under the current situation. One could never disappear here, but anyone could be found.

The elder merchant flung his hand down the street and barked, "Round the corner."

Akilah dismissed him as quickly as he did her and continued on her way. She took longer to get here than she intended, but Mario's information struck her curiosity. A few stops put her informants to work, and hopefully they would have the reports soon. Her reply to Mario could wait till then.

She started to round the corner but immediately rerouted forward as three guards observed the comings and goings of every passerby. She stopped when she reached the opposite corner. Apparently others were interested in Bartolomeo as well. Where was Ezio?

She slipped around to the back wall of the courtyard, ran up the wall of a neighboring building, and jumped over, grabbing hold of the ledge. She yanked herself up and over, crouching amidst the shadows of the wall, and crept around to the door of his home. Lamps still burned across the destroyed living quarters, and it was plainly obvious no one still lingered inside. Had they been captured?

No. Why bother guarding the place if they already had them tucked away somewhere? Then again, perhaps one was bait for the other. She didn't know about Bartolomeo, but Ezio would feel obligated to free him, even if he wasn't in need of the mercenary's services. Would he fall into a trap, though? His skills had advanced exceptionally, but had he learned to control his emotions?

She considered his confession of Cristina. No, perhaps not yet. She only hoped he would be smart enough to see through the charade.

"If you value your life, you'll stand down."

Akilah's ears perked at the sound of unsheathed steel. Her eyes peered around the corner, and two of the guards advanced beyond her sights. Was it Ezio?

"Never!" growled a rebellious, boisterous man in return. "What good is a man's life if it's not lived free, eh? I'll not go back into a cage!"

"Then you'll go into the ground! Kill them!"

The third guard pulled back from the others, concealing his drawn weapon as he knocked into one of the wide doors for cover. Weapons clashed out front, and brute grunts echoed the tang. Someone was getting dead right about now.

Akilah pulled her own knife from the sheath at her back then ducked around the wall toward the gate. The fighting beyond ceased, and the lone guard raised his sharpened steel to shoulder height. One step—two—three—four.

Her blade caught him perfectly beneath the ear, sliding up beneath the helmet and clean through the muscle straight into his brain. He collapsed instantly, his weapon falling a forearm short of Ezio's ready eyes. Her knife was returned just as quickly.

Bartolomeo stood next to him. They had never met, but his jovial, brutishly roughed up face spoke volumes. Standing next to Ezio, he looked so much older than he was, and age had not been generous to him.

But he made one glance at the guard then grinned at her. "I don't know who you are, but I like you already!"

Ezio smirked and extended an introductory hand at her. "Bartolomeo d'Alviano, let me introduce my deepest friend, Akilah Sharif."

Bartolomeo took her hand instantly and kissed it, and she smiled. "Molto onorato, Messer."

"L'onore ë mio," he winked then plopped his fists on his waist. "It will be a nice change to have a pretty lady around." He shook his head and waved a dissatisfied hand at the scrambled contents of his courtyard. "What a mess they made." Then he paled. "Bianca! I hope she's unharmed!"

He was gone before she realized the stress of Bianca's whereabouts. Ezio passed her a humorous smirk, which she mimicked, and they followed behind Bartolomeo. Neither man looked any worse for wear, but the mercenary's face distinctly carried more baggage than her love's. She entered first and narrowly avoided the paperweight flying through the air.

"Bianca! Bianca!" He tossed a crate aside and marched around the room, voice rising with each call. Though Bianca apparently meant a great deal to Bartolomeo, Akilah felt compelled to wonder why he might find her beneath stacked crates.

"Is everything all right?" Ezio asked, face construed in parallel thought.

"What do you think?" Bartolomeo growled. His arms spread across the disheveled room, but his feet kept hustling. "Look at this place! And poor Bianca!" His hand flew sadly to his head. "If something's happened to her…" Ezio stepped further in, glanced briefly around, then met her eyes. She could only shrug at his questioning eyebrows.

Then Bartolomeo turned toward his desk, and a huge grin splintered across his wrinkled face as his hand flew out. "Ah-HA!" He reached down and brought up a broad, long sword clearly put to good use over the years, but equally loved, judging by its glossy shine. "Oh, my darling. Thank God you're all right. Ezio." He raised the sword in one hand and came around the desk to them. "Meet Bianca. Bianca," he swung the blade to greet Ezio's face, "Ezio."

Ezio politely pushed it away with his hand. "Charmed." Akilah bit her giggling when Bartolomeo winked at her.

He extended his hand to her and placed hers gently against the sword hilt. "Madonna, meet my darling Bianca." His eyes twinkled. "Bianca is delighted to make your acquaintance."

She smiled and relinquished her hold on the lady of the house. "I expect we will grow to know each other well."

He chuckled and faced Ezio once more. "So," the old man began, still absently inspecting Bianca. "I know your name, but not why you're here." His eyes lifted.

"I have business with Silvio Barbarigo," Ezio replied. "I was told you could help."

"Ah," exactly what he wanted to hear, judging by the smile, "it would be my honor."

"But it's going to require more than just the two," added Ezio skeptically, and Bartolomeo loudly sheathed his lady. "Er, three," Ezio corrected, "of us to weaken his forces. How do you suggest we proceed?"

"I'll go and ready my men for battle. While I do this, I'd like you to rescue those who were captured during Silvio's assault. I cannot, in good conscience, leave them behind." His voice withered just the slightest; he hurt for them.

"Intesi," Ezio agreed with a nod. "I will attend to it at once." He patted Bartolomeo's shoulder reassuringly then headed for the door. (understood)

"Good luck out there, Ezio," Bartolomeo added then turned to Akilah, face grim. "You, too, Madonna."

She nodded and followed Ezio outside. "We should split up. You take the holding cells to the North; I'll cover the South; we'll meet in the middle."

"We should stick together," he advised. The sternness in his brow made her chest warm, but she smiled reassuringly.

"We'll meet at the center of the district in an hour." She turned to go, but he caught her arm and pulled her back, pressing their chests together.

"A promise?"

Akilah sighed, contently, and touched his beautiful lips. "I always come back for what is mine." He smiled and kissed her fingertips then released her, and she exited the front gate while he took to the roofs.

* * *

Everyone in the military district possessed valuable information, and a few good directions at the right prices made finding the mercenaries a quick task. She mentally stored the intelligence of the guards' routines and the condition of the prisoners before heading to l'Arsenale. For nearly midnight, the harbor housed busy personnel traffic. Late night habormen roped up boats and scrubbed the walkways while more learned men tallied the shipments of each vessel. The doors were closed, but business never slept.

One craft struck her interest. Soldiers patrolled the decks, and large men with particularly questionable morals brought crates on and off the large ship. No Borgia men, as far as their uniforms suggested, but even men without banners could be puppets to the wealthiest evil. It was safe to assume they were on Rodrigo's payroll.

"Hey," grunted a voice, weathered and hoarse from too much barking over a long life. She pulled her sash tighter across her mouth, eyes glued to the vessel, and the man approached her. "You shouldn't be here. Leave, before I call the rest of—"

She whipped the sash away, taking both ends in either hand, and, in one spinning movement, tucked it perfectly around the soldier's neck. She knotted it quickly, balancing his back across hers as his dangling toes absorbed the last moments of life.

Mario's note contained suggestions of a secret kept on Cyprus, something hidden in Altair's codex, but what, he could not place. He did not know what she knew; Altair's lifework. The power at Cyprus must be kept hidden.

She released the dead body and wrapped the sash around her head, slipping back into shadow. The mysteries of Masyaf must remain forgotten.

* * *

Ezio pushed off the wall and stepped forward, face severe. "I was worried," he scolded.

"Mi dispiace," she answered with a light smile. "I encountered more opposition than I expected."

"Are you all right?" He met her then and gently touched both of her arms, his eyes skimming her over for his own verdict.

Akilah smiled and tapped him beneath the chin. "You're so cute when you worry."

He sniffed and dropped his arms. "We should go." He began to step sideways, but she caught him by the collar, pulled him back to her, and planted a moist kiss on his mouth. He was briefly stunned then cupped the back of her head and returned the therapy.

Then she pulled back and met his eyes mischievously. "I told you I come back for what is mine." He grinned and kissed her again, this time squeezing her whole body in his tight arms, and she sighed dizzily when they parted.

As he chuckled and they walked back to Bartolomeo's, she knew she could no longer deny how crazy she was about him. She loved him too recklessly for infatuation and too deeply for loneliness; she loved him more than anyone, than anything she had ever known.

More than Altaïr. And that was dangerous. But she didn't care. And that was unknown territory, too.

They returned to Bartolomeo's and covered plans to free the mercenaries. They counted three main holding areas: one to the Northwest, one West, and the final South. Bartolomeo would remain at the fort, a far greater asset if kept indoors for the time being. Ezio and Akilah would take opposite posts, striking simultaneously at the appointed time, then converge at the center barracks for the final dispatch. Once this was finished, Bartolomeo would work on gathering his forces.

But every night until that time of readiness, she would enjoy the pleasures of her love. Her fingers would intertwine with every strand of hair, her lips consumed every flick of his tongue, her eyes swallowed up every inch of his beautiful body. And he devoured her, in every way a man could engulf a woman.

He loved her. They never said it, never bit their tongues to drive back the urge; she just knew. They made perfect love during that long, peaceful week.

And then it was time to wake up.

"Akilah!"

Akilah lifted her book and looked over the roof edge at the man standing below. His red cap and glassy blue eyes beckoned her familiar smile. "I'll be right down, Leonardo!" She snapped the book shut, jumped to the nearby tree, and hopped down the branches before landing perfectly on both feet. "Tesoro mio."

Leonardo checked the empty alley then pulled a crinkled letter from his tunic and passed it to her. "I have deciphered the letter you requested."

"Already?" She took it with a smirk. "And you made it sound difficult." She flipped it open.

Nothing surprising, though slightly concerning with its brief rendition of the Cyprus struggle between Assassin and Templar rule. Obviously, they knew the Apple resided somewhere on the island, but they letter didn't concern the Apple—not _the_ Apple, but _an_ Apple. One in a collection of artifacts that would grant godlike power to mortals.

Her eyes met Leonardo's, his gaze concerned yet puzzled. "What Apple, Akilah? What is this all about?"

She had to go. Now. "Leonardo, I need you to do one last thing for me."

He was still concerned but didn't hesitate. "Anything."

Her chest tightened involuntarily, but she stood straighter and breathed slow. Somehow, her voice came out even as her happiness withered like a young bloom in an early frost. "Tell Ezio…"

I love you. That's what she wanted to say. Goodbye. That's what she should say.

No. Not yet. She wasn't ready; she needed more time to—to—

"Nothing. This letter doesn't exist, this conversation never happened."

His first instinct was to disagree, but he balled his fists and bit his tongue then nodded. No words.

Didn't matter. At his movement, she brushed past him and scaled the fence up to the roof then bolted across the buildings. They moved tonight, and she spent the afternoon in literature while Ezio and Bartolomeo set up the final stages. Damnit! She should've known better than to take an afternoon off, when the enemy always knew the best times to stick the knife perfectly in her back.

"He's gone to station the men," Bartolomeo boasted when she arrived at his door. "We're positioning them around the district for the final attack."

Cazzo! "When did he leave?"

"Oh, twenty minutes past? Half, perhaps?"

Close enough she could find him. "Good luck tonight."

"Luck? Hah! We won't need luck against these pezzos di merda!" Probably true, but she kissed his cheek anyway and began her search.

He always favored counterclockwise, so she would start to the Northeast. What would she say when she found him? They were a team, and the plan had been laid out with the expectation of her additional skills on the front line. Would he never want to see her again? He said so before, but that was ten years ago. Would it be another ten before they met again?

Would they meet again?

She spotted him tucked away in a small courtyard, directing three mercenaries to man the post of the unconscious guards stashed in a corner. Should she wait until after the mission? They didn't need the distraction.

No, it had to be now. She needed a ship, quickly.

"Ezio!"

He turned and smirked while absently directing the remaining mercenaries to continue on. "Tired of your musty books already? I thought you said not to disturb you until it was absolutely necessary?"

She forced a smile, but he read her face easily enough as she stopped within arm's reach. "Ezio, there's something I must tell you."

"What is it?" He stepped closer, but she moved back, keeping him far enough not to tempt her. His brow creased. "Akilah?" Now.

"Ezio." Say it now. Get it over with. Say it! "I have to leave, Ezio."

He blinked, eyes darkening. "What? You mean today?"

"I mean now. On the next available vessel, I have to leave Venezia."

"But what about Silvio, and Bartolomeo's plans? The plan is tonight!" he hissed, moving forward again, and she mimicked his movements.

"I know, and it's unfortunate, but it has to be immediately. Every moment is precious, and if I wait, I may miss my opportunity."

"What opportunity? Tell me."

She bit her lip. "I can't." He scowled and spun away, and she reached out a subconscious hand. "Ezio—"

He whipped back to her, striding closer in three steps, and she gasped as her back hit the wall and his face lowered to hers. "Why are you doing this?" he spoke lowly, voice restrained. "I thought we," his neck muscles tightened, "I thought we were happy together?" His eyes swept her up, and no matter how it crushed her to look into his hurt and angry gaze, she couldn't keep her own off him.

"Ezio—"

He hissed, silencing her, and pressed his lips together. "Last time you left, I didn't see you for ten Goddamn years—"

"You _wanted_ me to leave!" she countered, but he slammed his hand against the wall.

"You played me, Akilah! Manipulated me into what you wanted! You had to leave then, too, and I was young enough to play into your little game! But I'm not a boy anymore and won't give you the luxury of a clear conscience this time." His hurt suddenly turned cold, controlled fury that turned him instantly into that man he professed to be. "Come vuoi." He turned and stormed out into the street.

"Ezio, please, you know I wouldn't do this unless it was for a good reason!" But he was gone, lost in the crowd and not interested in explanations or backward glances.

And just like that, she was alone again. Everything was as it once was. Alone. Meaningless. Hollow.

"Ti amo tanto." As it should be. (I love you so)

* * *

Eligio shook his head and set his pudgy fists on his pudgier hips. "Even if I could rally up a crew on such short notice, Akilah, and for such a _long_ journey, there's no way we could sail today. The harbor's closed off, and all entrances and exits out of the city from the water have been barred until the morning. Even the smaller boats haven't been able to squeeze through. They've got the place sealed up like a cow's culo, Madonna. Mi dispiace."

"But you're the harbor master, Eligio; surely can pull some strings?"

"For you, I would if I could, but it's beyond my reach at this point. With Silvio controlling the district, everything's become more restricted than a single man can override."

If the port was closed till morning, Silvio intended to escape before first light. By tomorrow, it may be too late. Unless…

"Mariano Lombardi intended to sail for Napoli by way of Messina for the dressing of Sandro Botticelli by order of Lorenzo de Medici. Surely they would not have refused his passage?"

"Lombardi departed the city the day before last by special permit from Pope Innocent VIII himself. _You_, nor any other in all Venezia, have such intricate resources, Akilah."

"Thanks to you, my friend, I shant need them." She hurried back down the gangway and crossed the street to the Ponte di Rialto.

Light already faded beneath the horizon, and time, her greatest enemy, fought against her. She would steal a horse at the city gate and run to Bologna, where she could stowaway on a ship and meet with Mariano before he left for Napoli. He would help her acquire passage to Cyprus, no questions asked. It still put Silvio a few days ahead of her, but it was doubtful they found the Apple yet. She still had the advantage.

"Akilah?"

She whipped on the voice and sighed. "Teodora. You're a long way from la Rosa Della Virtù."

Teodora came to her side and quirked a very cunning slim eyebrow. "And _you're_ a long way from Ezio Auditore da Firenze." She tilted her head. "How unusual."

Akilah smirked. "We each have our parts to play."

"Indeed." Teodora put her hand through Akilah's elbow, leading them both into a stroll. "And how does Eligio play into your part of all this?" No need to answer; Teodora never bothered to look at the silent Akilah as they rounded the corner away from the military district. "Ezio is a very brave and skilled boy, but he's still young. He doesn't see the world in the same light as you and I."

Akilah glanced at her. "You and I?"

Teodora returned the look. "Women." They exchanged a smile, and Teodora squeezed her arm. "We try so hard to keep the world from falling apart, yet it is our lives that we give up so much control over. The irony of a heroine."

She never had control over her life, not even when the world made sense. The war against the Templars gave her a semblance of determination in her fate, working the system in search of a way to survive the chaos of it all. It gave her purpose, usefulness. It taught her how to survive her fate. What would happen when they were all gone? Would they ever be? Would _she _ever be?

"It's your life." Their eyes met, and Teodora slipped free. "Use it how _you_ see fit." She joined the crowd heading deeper into the district, and Akilah lowered her gaze before she even disappeared.

Her life wasn't so simple. She didn't have the luxury of frivolous decisions. Unlike everyone else, death wouldn't eliminate her mistakes or relieve her of burdening memories. She would have to see each and every result of her actions—or inaction. Her life could never be about her.

Something went off behind her, and she reeled around as the fading light of a firework evaporated in the sky. Could it be…?

"What the hell?" hissed a brute. "We'd better check it out." He motioned two other guards to follow suit, and they headed toward the Rialto. If she ran, she might still make the next city by daybreak.

"More Goddamn vigilantes," grunted a spearman, joining the trio with his own quartet. "Silvio's not going to go easy on them once Dante catches the bastardi."

She could still make good time.

"Promise me," she turned, expecting to see Ezio standing at her elbow, but it was only an emptying street as his voice reached her, "you will let yourself experience it for all its worth. No hiding, no secrets." No running. "Love must rule without rules." Without hesitation.

Akilah turned back, chin square and eyes solid as she strode for the Rialto and drew the notched cinquedea from its sheath. Her finger balled into a tight fist around the handle, and she punched the rear guard in the lower spine, her knuckles finding the perfect places between the discs. He recoiled, leaning back into the blow, and her arm came around his neck. As the other guards spun about, she pulled hard, and his neck popped free of the last strings of life.

"There! Get her!"

The spearman charged, and she dropped the dead guard. He swung high, aiming for her neck and shoulder, and she ducked back then stepped up on his exposed right knee and spun backwards, landing a kick so hard across the back of his head that his nose bled after it collided with the ground. She shoved the cinquedea below the bottom of his helmet and beneath the skull, severing his link to the world. She swiped up the spear, spun around the wild swing of a third guard, and launched the weapon, where it planted with a thick _thunk_ into a fourth guard's chest.

The third guard swung wildly again, and she blocked then knocked him in the elbow, weakening his grip, and shoved the cinquedea through his throat. Her hand relinquished the blade, and she lunged in a half circle, left hand high, and the hidden blade sliced open the esophagus of a fifth guard.

The sixth guard hesitated with a look at the brute. The brute yanked the spear free of his fallen comrade, shoved it into the sixth guard's hands, and motioned him forward with a yell. They barreled forward together, the guard fallen slightly behind his larger superior. She returned the charge, digging her toes hard into the ground and leaning close to the earth, then vaulted up, planted both feet in the brute's broad chest, and somersaulted back to her feet as he fell backwards, arms flailing. She faced the guard, and he stabbed the spear at her, awkward with the weapon. She grabbed it half-staff, broke it in two, and rammed the point overhead into the top of his skull.

The brute regained his bearings and hurtled his battle axe through the air. She dropped to the ground, flipped backwards, and held a stiletto high. He charged relentlessly, chopping at her from arm's length, and she kept pace with each narrow shuffle back. Then she circled beneath his swing, wedged the stiletto beneath his arm and between the bones of his elbow, then caught the axe in its sudden fall. She never stopped moving, using the momentum to spin about and hack its massive blade straight through his bulking armor and into his meaty chest. He wavered, and she went back to the third guard. She pulled the cinquedea free and charged into the military district, the brute only just making his descent to the hard ground.

It didn't take long to fall into the fray of rebellion. Guards and mercenaries struck at each other everywhere, and peasants long since locked themselves safely away in their homes, not eager for a glance at the brutality manifesting outside. She struck at anyone who stood in her way, giving them a death befitting of their actions but taking away little from her search for him.

"Porca puttana!" Bartolomeo! "Come on, men, we have to stop that grassone bastardo!" (Son of a bitch) (fat bastard)

Akilah ducked under his bludgeoning swordsmanship and raised her arms up. "It's me, Bartolomeo!"

He blinked almost comically at her then swung again, soaring over her head and beheading the enemy behind her. "What the hell kept you!"

"Where is Ezio?"

"He went after that bastardo and his mindless bodyguard! They headed toward l'Arsenale only a moment ago!"

She shoved him aside and headed-butted the oncoming assailant. He wobbled on his feet then dropped to the ground, gripping his forehead with a loud groan. She smacked Bartolomeo's arm. "I trust you can handle things on your lonesome?"

"Go!" he laughed heartily, stomped over the fallen guard, and charged into another skirmish.

Akilah grinned but bolted in the opposite direction. The guards thinned near l'Arsenale until she breached the entrance, where several whipped on her in surprise. She just made out Ezio's cape disappearing around a corner, and the ships' sails sprung ready.

She sidestepped the frazzled guards and took to the roof, charging headlong through the barren tops and scaffolding as fast as her relentless feet would carry her. Almost there, across this alley, between these buildings, and with an instinctive leap of faith, she pounced from the rooftop. Her arm pulled back, blade snapping out robotically, and Silvio turned as she descended upon him. The blade hit him just left of the sternum, barely missing his heart, and he gargled blood as he landed flat on his back.

She turned and stared into the dark eyes of Ezio Auditore. Confused, overwhelmed, angry, grateful—but no love.

"What's happened here?" he asked calmly, regarding the choking Silvio, as well as the fading Dante at his feet. "Why the boats? I thought you sought the Doge's seat?"

"Just a distraction," Silvio managed, his hand flattening against the hole in his chest. "We were meant to sail."

"Sail where?" She tensed, glad for Ezio's eyes trained on the dying man.

"I'll never tell." He fell still, disappearing into his own thoughts for eternity.

"Cyprus," another voice rasped, and they both looked to Dante. His gaze fixed desperately on Ezio, and Akilah saw a fragment of a different man in his eyes. The man returned? Or a man reborn? "Is their destination. They want…They…want…" Then he, too, was gone. And for now, his secrets died with him.

"Non temete l'oscurità—accettate il suo abbraccio." He looked to Silvio. "Requiescat in pace." Death be not unkind. (Fear not the darkness but welcome it's embrace)

The moment crashed, however, when an explosion tore through the closed gates of l'Arsenale, and men began rioting against the hands at port. Not mercenaries, at least not Bartolomeo's, and she inhaled. Pirates.

"Akilah!" Her eyes trained to another ship crewed and ready to sail, fighting off the guards who attempted to board their vessel.

"Vincenzo!" Not since that fateful visit to Firenze had she heard word of her old pirate band.

"Hurry, Akilah! We're making our escape in this little rebellion of Venezia's!" A ship!

She turned suddenly, and Ezio's eyes trained on her. They stared, silently speaking more than words ever could, then his gaze changed. There, driving all other emotions, she saw the most beautiful thing in nearly three hundred years: unconditional love.

"Goodbye." A whisper, but he heard her over the roar of the world. And before that beautiful love could change her mind, she scaled a stack of crates, jumped a rooftop to the mast of a roped vessel, and used her cinquedea to slide down. Her feet carried her down the ship to starboard, where she jumped for Vincenzo's boat. The cinquedea caught the back of the ship, and Vincenzo offered a hand up. She accepted it, and then they were both grinning aboard the stolen vessel.

"I'll be damned!" he chuckled and slapped her shoulder. "Where the hell have you been the last ten years? You look as good as ever!"

She grinned. "And you still look like the wrong end of a mule." He laughed and carried on with his crew, and she looked back.

Ezio stood at the edge of the water, staring after her in such a way she never could have hoped for. She always ruined everything for them, never able to linger in the happiness they found together. Why did she always have to be the one who left?

"Where the hell are you off to?" Vincenzo asked, leaning beside her on the rail.

As they ventured into the open sea, she reached up and clutched her necklace fiercely. Then she made a promise so perilous and freeing, it took her breath away. If they met again, and he could find it in him to love her still, she would never let him go. She would never leave again. Not for anyone; not for anything. Never.

"Cyprus." Her eyes darkened, and she turned her back on Venezia. "I aim to make mischief."

* * *

**Avs**: I intend to write an epilogue, which is already in the making, then that's all for Creed II. On to Brotherhood! Thanks for everybody's Christ-like patience. I know I suck at life when it comes to updating, but you're all 10xs more amazing.


	7. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

She could still feel him here. His smell permeated her nostrils, but the blissful smile on that special day in Limassol no longer twisted her heart. It reminded her of what had been, as well as what might become. It reminded her of a different smile, a different smell. So seldom had she found true similarity between them, but standing on the outskirts of the Templar camp, she felt the connection between Ezio and Altaïr overwhelming. Had it always been so, or had time changed things?

Changed him, or changed her?

"It wasn't easy," a voice interrupted, and she regarded Vincenzo as he reached into his tunic with a grin, "but I got what you asked for." He pulled out a small pouch and dropped it in her open palm. "Though I don't know what help you think it'll be."

"Maybe someday I'll regale you with a story," she smiled and tied it to her belt. "But for now, this is where we part ways."

He didn't waste time looking guilty, held out his hand, and grinned. He had already devoted over a year to this mission, and pirates just didn't commit to that sort of immobility easily. "Aiutati che Dio ti aiuta." (Help yourself and God will help you)

She smirked and gripped his hand. "Dai nemici mi guardo io; dagli amici mi guardi Iddio." (I will protect myself from my enemies; may God protect me from my friends) His grin widened then he kissed her hand and slipped away through the brush.

Akilah gathered all her hair and bound it to the back of her scalp. It had gotten too long, too much to manage at this point, but Ezio told her once that her black tendrils carried the hottest blazes of her spirit. What if he didn't like shorter hair? He wouldn't feel any less for her, she knew with certainty, but, at the same time, she wanted to be everything he loved in a woman. She wanted him to long for her always.

"Idiot!" a soldier barked as two men scrambled to lift a fallen supply crate. "Watch what you're doing!"

Focus.

The harbor below overflowed with movement from merchants, citizens, and Borgia hands alike. Vincenzo's ship left port weeks ago, anchoring off the Southern coast, and the men slipped amidst the other ships like harlots drifting toward the best rewards. Thanks to their talents, keeping track of Templar progress felt effortless. Four attempts had been made to evaporate into the higher ranks, but any hands directly involved with the retrieval were kept under tight lock and key. Twenty-two men had been killed on grounds of suspicion; nine of them were hers.

But the Apple would set sail today. They'd come across the information unexpectedly, but she couldn't risk the Piece of Eden getting off the island. Vincenzo was sent away for his own good. This might be it. Infiltrating the Templars wouldn't be easy, but she'd seen worse. Something just felt foreboding as she sat on the hilltop.

Akilah subconsciously touched the pouch and sighed. The Apple couldn't leave, it _must_ not. It wouldn't. The stone above her breasts felt warm, and the sun cleared the horizon. Now or never.

She dropped down the hillside and surveyed the people from ground level. Nothing looked out of routine. Wherever the Apple was, something would be different. She need only find it. Patrols passed, and she slinked amidst their shadow until reaching the docks webbing the ships and men together. She slid into the warm waters then pulled out the pouch and dropped a piece or two of rock every few inches as she bobbed down the woodwork until she reached the stern of the main ship. There would only be one shot at this.

"Make way!" a guard barked, and several navy men cleared the way as three guards marched down the dock. The one in the middle carried a small chest, sealed with golden latches and a thick iron lock. It must be.

She hoisted herself out of the water and up to the top of the ship. The guards were only a few feet from the gangway. She slinked to the railing, sharpened her eyes, and pointed her hidden blade downward. Deep breath. Both eyes open. She pulled the trigger, and a shot banged against her eardrums. It was overshadowed, however, as the bullet struck one of the rocks, and the resin exploded into flame, catching its neighboring pieces like mousetraps as the dock went up.

"It's an ambush! The assassins are here! Guards!"

Made no difference. The men abandoned the path, and the guards surfaced empty-handed. Akilah wasted no time in diving off the ship into the flaming depths below. The fires still shimmered against the sinking gold clasps, and she withdrew her dagger as she tucked the chest beneath her arm. The blade ripped straight through the top of the chest, and she carved a hole big enough for the Apple to drift out. She maneuvered her pouch around it and swam for the surface.

The men swarmed to douse the fires, and she hoisted herself onto dry land. A guard cut off her exit, and she parried his sword with her short blade then gauged it sideways through his throat. His partner swiped at her, and she dodged, but his dagger caught the bottom of her pouch, and the Apple rolled off toward the sea. She gutted him quickly then scrambled after the Piece of Eden. It rolled off the edge, but she drove her hand into the water and grabbed hold before it disappeared. A sigh of relief. She stood and whipped around for escape.

Then her lungs drowned in blood as a guard rammed his spear through her middle. She blinked at him. Huh. She was dying—fast. Dying. It felt different than she imagined. Not surreal or terrifying. She wasn't even cold.

Just empty.

The guard shoved on the spear, and blood slopped from her lips as the blade pierced out her back. The world faded at the edges, not into black but a white brighter than the hottest sun. Her fingers twitched, and she furrowed her brow as her mind strained to remember watch they clutched.

The Apple. The Apple!

She grit her teeth, cut her sword in front of her, and fell backwards into the sea as the guard released his spear to clutch his ripped throat. The water swallowed her instantly, and the emptiness of death felt enlarged as the warm liquid flooded through the hole in her middle. Strange. It soothed the pain a little.

Her uncle's voice came back. She'd forgotten it, but hearing it again, she knew him straightaway. "'Indeed, those who have said 'Our Lord is Allah' and then remained on a right course,'" he quoted the Quran. He always did love theology. "The angels will descend upon them, 'Do not fear and do not grieve but receive good tidings of Paradise, which you were promised.'"

Are you waiting for me, Uncle?

"'We were your allies in worldly life and in the Hereafter.'"

Ezio.

"'And you will have therein whatever your souls desire.'"

In shaa'Allah. (If it is God's will)

"'And you will have therein whatever you request.'"

Her fingers twitched again, and as the sea consumed her, her last particle of life gripped the Apple. At least it was safe.

Then she stood upright, and the water relinquished her to a dark room illuminated by torches. She gasped at the air, uncertain of its realism, and pressed a hand to her stomach. Nothing. She wasn't even wet. And the Apple. She spun in circles, raking the stone floor with her eyes. "Where is it?"

"I was beginning to think you would never come."

Akilah looked up and fell still as an old man approached her dressed in crimson-trimmed white robes. His hood was pulled, and his pearly short hair matched the full beard consuming his wrinkled, weathered face. The light of his eyes had faded, but she knew them just the same. He was so old. Older than she'd ever seen.

"Altaïr." So quiet. Had she spoken aloud? She must have, for he smiled gently and nodded. How? "Is this Heaven?" The surroundings were Masyaf, but the library was unfamiliar. It felt so empty. "No." Not Paradise. "Ezio would be here if it were Heaven." She returned her gaze to him, and his eyes glinted like they knew something she didn't. She had lived so long, yet he appeared wiser than she ever could.

"You will see him again."

If not Heaven, then what was this? "I died."

He tilted his head then shook it. "Not dead. The sea will always save you, Akilah." He dabbed at the center of his chest. "Your necklace ensures it."

She instantly clutched it then looked down at the shiny silver stone. "My necklace?"

"I designed it that way, to be certain you would uncover this message one day." She glanced up again, and he tucked his old hands behind his back. "You have many questions, and I've preserved this solely for you. So one day, you might know."

Her eyes narrowed. "Know what?"

He smiled. "The truth."

_Masyaf 1257_

Akilah squinted into the world as voices stirred her awake. "We must wait for my father," a low voice spoke assertively. It sounded unfamiliar, but a gentle hand across her forehead put her at ease. "She is waking."

Her eyes peeled open, and she blinked up into the crystal blue eyes of a handsome face still young in spirit thought slightly thinned in corners. His swept back dark locks possessed traces of gray, and he soothed her with a humble shush.

"You are safe. My father has treated you himself. Your wounds are nearly healed."

Akilah brushed her hand against her side, greeted by a swollen pain well-recognized as a recovering stab wound. Right, the Mongols. They were relentless, but attacking her in her sleep was low even for a band of barbarians. She'd narrowly escaped before passing out in the hills. "How long have I been unconscious?"

"You've been out for ten days. Our scouts brought you here after finding you near death by the canyons. It was not far, a day or so outside the city."

City? "Where am I?"

"Amongst friends." Someone in the back grumbled something, and the man glared sharply at him. "Masyaf is a safe haven to all in need."

Masyaf? When had she ventured so close? She couldn't be here! "I must leave." She shrugged to sit up, but the man held her down by the shoulders.

"We must wait. My father will be here shortly."

"You don't understand, I need—"

The door swung open, and an old man dressed in crimson-trimmed white robes stepped through. She didn't know the lines of his face or the whisker-shrouded lips, but his illuminated gaze shocked her still. Their eyes met, and she knew the questioning stare. He had so many questions.

"Father." The man beside her rose, and she caught her first glimpse of his white attire. Darim? When had he become so big? "She only just woke."

The old man nodded but never took his eyes from her. "See to the city. The enemy is closing in."

"Of course." He bowed then passed an encouraging smile her way before leading the others out.

They were alone in the room, and Akilah deliberated his state of mind as he approached. Would he believe a lie as obvious as denial? He sat down on the edge of the bed then carefully took her hand in his. He felt out the groove of her knuckles, the pumping veins of her wrist, and the pads of her fingertips. Then he pressed it against his cheek, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips.

"Astaghfiru lillah." (I seek forgiveness from Allah)

Her eyes already welled up, and she instantly threw her arms around him and drew him against her, cradling his snowy white head against her chest. "Forgive me, Altaïr. I have not been here to protect you, as I promised I would."

"And I did not return to you, as I swore." He rose up and cupped her face in both hands, his own irises glossing over as he studied her face. "You're exactly as I remember."

She smiled. "I am the same."

He took a deep breath then shook his head. "Only on the outside." His fingers brushed at the corners of her eyes. "I see it."

She rubbed the tears on her forearm and clutched his shoulders. "The Mongols have come for the Apple. We must get it out of Masyaf as soon as possible."

"It's been arranged." His tone dropped, and she saw the change in his gaze. "I have to beg a final favor, Akilah."

"Anything."

He hesitated, and her brow creased. She would do whatever he asked, but why did his hands tighten against her face? "Akilah." She started to speak, until he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips against hers. He had aged, but his passion felt the same as his hands fell into her hair. She clutched at his robes, and a strange fizz filled her thoughts as she returned his desperation.

Then he pulled back and whispered softly in her ear, "Give me your life."

Suddenly, her body went ridged, and she visually implored him as he stared straight back. Then he stood, and her eyelids tried desperately to widen as the Apple's golden light filled the room. He raised it between them, and the web of its powers drifted toward her chest, focusing their untold corruption on her will as well as her body.

"Cease your struggle," Altaïr spoke, but she felt her fingers craning against the manipulation. "Cease your struggle!" he commanded, and the Apple's strings exploded with new light.

She was consumed by it. It spidered through her veins, seeped into her blood, and encased her mind with its spirit. It was everywhere, invading her life as it picked through her memories so fast she strained to close her eyes against their onslaught. Her body felt on fire!

"Cease your struggle, Akilah!"

Her focus fought the pain and solidified on the old man feet from her. Life ebbed through her pores; she was corrupted. But as her gaze sharpened, the fight evaporated from her. Altaïr watched—and he cried. Why? Why was he doing this? What was happening?

"Give me your life," he repeated, and her muscles softened. Why did he do this? "Cease your struggle." She no longer felt control over her limbs, and her only attachment to her body was the pumping of her heart. "Trust me." Why was he crying? "Trust. Me." Why?

Then her chest fell, and she disappeared. She drifted somewhere, some place that didn't exist, but she existed only there. It didn't cling to her, and she didn't feel it. They only existed together without existing.

For a moment.

She died.

* * *

Akilah squeezed her eyes shut and clutched her chest, that feeling enveloping her again as she remembered what never happened. But it did. How? "You died at the encampment," she also remembered. "How is this possible? You died at the encampment long before."

"A constructed recollection," Altaïr advised, and her mind pinched. Strange. She suddenly couldn't remember the details of that night. "Smoke and mirrors to conceal the truth." The encampment, it, tsk, she had gone and…

No use. The smoke had cleared, and the false memory became a shadow. "The Apple was selecting which memories to repress," she deduced, seeing the web now that the illusions disintegrated. "So that it might make room for new ones." It wasn't picking through her brain to control her; it picked through her brain to rewrite her.

"It took as much as it needed to conceal itself from you. In return, it bound itself to you. It gave you gifts."

"Gifts?" She touched the necklace again, and he nodded.

"You are forever young, Akilah, but not immortal. Haven't you ever wondered how you managed to survive so many injuries? Why, with each brush with death, you felt stronger, faster, sharper?" He reached out, and she didn't recoil as his hand flattened against the stone. "Have you ever considered _why_ your bond is so strong, even after you have found a new love?"

No. Never. But it made perfect sense. Without it, she felt pulled, like butter over too much bread. It never seemed so obvious until now. She lowered her own hand from the necklace, and he dropped his as well. "You asked for my life. Why?"

He tucked his hands behind his back and gestured around them with his eyes. "I entrusted the keys of my library to Niccolò Polo, but my greatest secrets I had to mask from anyone who might seek the Pieces of Eden. I could not risk another assassin devoting his life to the curiosity of items such as the Apple. So, I hide the truth in the most unlikely of places—a place no one would ever find, even if they knew its location." He stepped closer, but she refused to step back. He lifted his hand and pressed a finger gently into her sternum. "Here."

Her brow crinkled. "What do you mean?"

"Your blood. You have communed with the Apple in a way no one else ever will. It is a part of who you are. Surely you've sensed it." Yes. She'd always known where to find it, when it was near, felt it's will upon the people. "Even dreamt of it?" The visions!

"I only feared the removal of the Apple from its resting place. I swore that I'd deliver it to Cyrus and—"

"You have never laid eyes on the Apple of Cyprus."

She blinked. Impossible. She remembered it so perfectly, how could it not be true, either? All these years, she had thought—

"The Apple bonded with you so you might protect its brethren from dangerous hands. The Pieces of Eden speak to you. You are their chalice, and they will reach out to you whenever and wherever they can until they serve their purpose."

"What purpose? What are they for?"

He shook his head. "I do not know. I shadowed this truth from you, but where your journey takes you from here, even I cannot be sure. But you were the only one I could trust with this responsibility." His eyes softened, and she felt suddenly humbled by his deterioration. "Only you can be entrusted with my family, Akilah." Ezio.

He pointed at her neck and stepped back. "The necklace will ensure your safe passage through time. As long as it remains intact, water will always be your greatest ally."

Drip-drip. How did she break free?

The crash against the shore a devout refusal of her death. Why had his inscription on the rock been preserved?

Blood filling her punctured lungs as she sank beneath the sea. What kept her alive?

"Water." It wasn't luck.

"Water," Altaïr nodded, and no words surfaced as realization descended. In the end…

In the end, Altaïr came back for her. He protected her in the only way he knew how: by helping her protect the ones she loved.

"Ezio is waiting for you." Reality snapped back as she returned his gentle stare. "Our time is done."

The library started melting away, dripping at the corners and giving way to white light that possessed no definite shape. The ending of a vision. It happened so much slower than she'd ever seen, but she understood the fluttery feeling in her chest.

"Never give up, Akilah. The power of the Brotherhood is in its loyalty to each other, and though a single individual can make all the difference, no one can walk a path alone."

"What do I do now?" He kept moving away, fading as the library nearly disappeared below the white. "What happens next? Please, tell me!"

He pointed his finger into his chest, and warmth overwhelmed her as the sound of his heartbeat filled her ears. "Safety and peace." He was nearly gone. But a whisper. "I will miss you always."

Then he was gone—forever.

La astateea al entezar hatta ashofak. (I cannot wait until I see you again)

_Monteriggioni 1500_

Akilah dangled her foot over the edge of the dilapidated rooftop and stared over the smoking ruins of the town. Most of the dead bodies still littered the disturbed earth, but Mario's body was gone. Word spread quickly in the isolated countryside, and she knew, somewhere, her old friend lay beneath the ground. Dead at the hands of that bastard's bastard. The whole family was evil, and she sat idle far too long in Kostantiniyye while the Borgia choked the life out of Roma and her surrounding provinces.

Now Monteriggioni.

"Madonna." She turned her head, and a young man crossed the roof to her. He looked just like Vincenzo. Even after his murder, the boy still struggled to follow in his footsteps. "The survivors fled to Firenze, but none of the Auditores are among them. Cesare and his army are on their way back to the Pope, and Caterina Sforza rides as his prisoner."

Caterina Sforza held little power in the world these days, but her loyalty to the Brotherhood made her an unacceptable captive. "Ready my horse. I leave for Roma within the hour." It was likely other assassins would gather in Roma to take the snake's head, but Cesare amassed a great deal of power since his father's papacy, and the people of the city spent their days in fear. They could use her help.

"Come vuoi."

She waited until he left to finger the stone at her throat. "Laa shay'a waqi'un moutlaq bale kouloun moumkine." (Nothing is true, everything is permitted) Please. Please, _please_.

Let him be there.

**The End**

* * *

**Avs:** See you Brotherhood!


End file.
